Crux Ferimus: Novus
by N-Rogue
Summary: Joining the Templars was like trading away my innocence: in exchange for control over my newfound powers, I could no longer look away from the things I didn't want to see. I ended up getting a lot more than what I bargained for when I stepped into the Secret World, but regretting my choices won't help me now. My name is Chase Mercer, and this is the story of the cross I now bear.
1. Prologue - Tier 1

As I opened the door to my apartment, I let out an exhausted sigh as I set my backpack against the wall. Vaulting over the back pillows of the couch to land onto the cushions on the other side, I then stretched my arm out to grab the remote sitting on the coffee table. Pressing the power button, the TV screen flashed to life to reveal the anchors of a local news network.

"In world news, the Japanese Self-Defense Forces are maintaining a heavily guarded perimeter around the site of last month's terrorist attack." Oh, they're _still _going on about that? If that was the case, then I was going to go make myself a sandwich before having to hear the same thing as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before _that_… You get the idea.

"The Japanese government has stated than an unidentified radical political group released a biological agent in the Tokyo subway, less than a kilometer from Orochi Tower. Although the area has been evacuated, there have been eyewitness reports of activity inside the perimeter, including ongoing fighting between Orochi security personnel and armed civilians. Authorities are denying these reports, and the SDF has barred anyone from approaching one hundred of the temporary perimeter…"

I sighed as I turned off the TV from behind the kitchen counter, before my brain could tune out the droning voice of the news anchor any further. It had been about… two weeks since the 'Tokyo Incident,' as everyone had started calling it, yet it didn't seem as if the investigation had made any progress. Just what were they doing in there, anyway? Watching anime?

Well, there were more pressing concerns for me at the moment. Placing the last slice of toasted whole wheat bread on my turkey and cheese sandwich, I took a bite out of it as I left the kitchen to grab my backpack and get started on my homework. However, as I buckled down and got to work, I thought I could hear a bee buzzing from somewhere within the apartment, but as I slowly scanned the room, looking for any sign of movement, I didn't see anything, nor did I hear anything out of the ordinary. "Eh, it's probably nothing. Now then…"

However, up until I went to bed that night, I couldn't shake that feeling you get when you think that _something _is watching you. And to be honest with you, I thought I could hear that buzzing sound coming from within the back of my mind. The constant nagging feeling in the back of my mind only ended when I went to bed and closed my eyes, letting the darkness of sleep claim me and block out the noise.

* * *

In the void, I drifted aimlessly, nice and warm beneath the blankets covering my body as I slept. Then from somewhere within the darkness, something rasped, like an ancient being being brought back to life. The deep rasp grew clearer and clearer, until I could make out the individual voices that made up the rasp.

_"__You will see the end of days… You will see the dawning of a new age…"_

I then became aware of something dripping onto my forehead, as if I had decided to fall asleep with my head underneath a faucet. I opened my eyes to see cold, wet raindrops falling down onto my face, but strangely enough, there were no rainclouds in sight. All I could see was the night sky looming above me, but something about it seemed… _off_. I stared up at the sight for a moment before realizing what felt wrong about the sky — the stars didn't twinkle at all, making it seem… dead.

I then unconsciously shifted my position as I lay there on my back, and suddenly, I became acutely aware of what felt like little rocks digging into my back. As I willed my hands to move, my suspicions about what I was lying on were confirmed, and grasping a handful of the tiny little stones and pebbles, I brought them up so I could take a closer look. My hand then began to lean, and I watched silently as the gravel and dark dirt tumbled out of sight towards the ground. It all felt so… _real_. Too real, in fact. "Damn… What the hell did I accidentally breathe in today?"

I groaned in exhaustion as I pushed myself up onto my elbows before getting up onto my bare feet. The stones and pebbles dug into the soles of my feet as I worked out the numerous kinks in my body. I then heard the sound of waves lapping against the shore through my sleepiness, and in my current state, I couldn't be bothered to feel surprise at the beach before me. The black waters of the night then began to extend their reach towards me, and I shivered slightly as the cold washed over the soles of my feet.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked up to see a shattered moon looming above the horizon, pale white in the night sky. Asteroids made of rock almost as dark as the sky swirled above my head, like space whales. In fact, I half-expected to hear a distant song of a cetacean come from one of the asteroids. However, my thoughts were then interrupted by the voice from before.

_"__To be a monarch, or a beggar… To lose everything, or to become a god… To stand with us, or against us… The choice is yours… Remember this…"_

I blinked once, and I recoiled in shock as a boy suddenly appeared, standing a few feet in front of me. He wasn't just _any _guy, however. In fact, he was a mirror image of myself, except he was dressed all in black while I was going barefoot in shorts and a T-shirt. The blank, unfocused gaze of his dark eyes unnerved me, and I nervously scratched the scalp hidden beneath my jet black hair. Then he spoke with _my _voice in a dead monotone that was just plain _creepy_.

"Be mindful of the voices. They will whisper in your sleep. You are with the chosen, but you must choose for yourself, for you are cursed with free will."

"Cursed with free will?" I repeated. "Aren't we all?"

The corners of the other me's lips then curled up into a small smile, and from that one single change in expression, he appeared much more humane. "It is not my place to intervene, but then again…"

The other me spread his arms out wide, as if he were expecting a hug. I still wasn't about to give him one. "This is all just a dream."

"This is all just a dream?" I repeated dumbly as my eyes were drawn inexorably to his feet, which were covered by black dress shoes. However, the leather of his footwear began to flake off, the edges of the rising black slivers glowing a fiery orange. As each piece rose higher and higher into the air, it metamorphosed into a buzzing honeybee, and the swarm grew bigger and bigger as more of the other me's body burned away like paper.

"Make the right choices, and be mindful of the voices, for they corrupt." The other me continued in the same dead monotone, as if he were working as an overworked call center employee and _not _missing his legs. Before I could ask him what he meant by that, however, the swarm of bees began to swirl around me like a buzzing dust cloud.

A feeling of panic then began to well up in my stomach as I felt my bare feet begin to leave the stones of the beach. I looked down to see my feet dangling in the air, and I looked up again to see that the other me was nowhere to be found. I suddenly felt white hot pain all throughout my body, as if someone had set all of my nerves on fire. As I opened my mouth to scream in agony, the bees began to fly upwards before diving towards my mouth in what appeared to be a mass kamikaze attack. As the first insect made its way down my throat…

* * *

I catapulted my head from the pillow, coughing and gasping for breath as I sat bolt upright as I clutched at my throat. As my breathing steadied, I looked around and took comfort in the familiar surroundings of my bedroom. It wasn't much to look at — just a desk with a laptop, a bookshelf containing my small collection of books, video games, and manga volumes, along with the single bed I was currently in.

I glanced at my digital alarm clock just in time to see that it was a minute to six, and I hit the button before it could even have a chance to get started with its beeping wakeup call. I then noticed that spit had built up inside of my mouth, and I had to either spit it out or swallow it. I swallowed. No comments, please.

My throat felt raw as the spit traveled downwards, and getting out from under the covers, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I shivered slightly as a slight coldness chilled my body, and I stretched an arm out towards the black pullover draped over the bedpost at the foot of my bed. My hand was unusually warm compared to the rest of my body, but I dismissed the thought as just a trick of the mind. Well, right up until the moment I accidentally set my hoodie on fire with the power of my mind. Huh… Now _there's_ one sentence I'd never thought I'd say seriously.

I recoiled in shock as the flames enveloping my black hoodie glowed a bright blue atop the bedpost, but strangely, my jacket didn't seem to be burning. I stared at the flames in a mix of shock and awe before I regained my wits. Despite, you know, _logic_, I hesitantly reached through the fire and flames for the pullover. The flames licked at my hands, but instead of burning away my skin with excruciating pain, all I could feel was a glowing, _pleasant _warmth against my unharmed hand.

As my fingers brushed against the cloth, the fire went out on its own, leaving me blinking in confusion as I held the hoodie in my hand. It felt nice and warm, as if it had come back fresh from the ironing board. "Did… that really just happen?"

…Nah, of course not. You _obviously _can't cause clothing to spontaneously combust with your mind, I told myself as I put on the pullover. Getting up from the bed, I walked down the hallway to the bathroom door, where I hissed in pain as I received a small, unpleasant static shock from touching the doorknob. From there, my morning bathroom routine went without incident, until I was gargling mouthwash to finish off brushing my teeth.

As I spat out the minty fresh liquid (again, no comments please) into the sink, I thought I saw something glisten within the bright green liquid still clinging to the sides of the sink. Peering closely, I realized what it was:

A pair of delicate bee wings.


	2. Prologue - Tier 2

Three days after what I had dubbed "The Incident," I was huddled in the corner of my bedroom, shivering from the freezing cold. As I hugged my knees to my chest, I could hear my teeth chatter slightly. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but just as I began to let my guard down, I felt the heat begin to burn within my body again, and my voice came out in a weak groan. "Oh God, not again…"

My skin itched as I felt the heat within my body rapidly grow to unbearable temperatures, as if I had just swallowed a miniature sun. Just before my vision went white, I looked down to see my body burst into blue flames. I let out a hoarse scream as I felt my eye sockets and the back of my throat burn as if white-hot coals had been stuffed inside them, and I threw my head backwards towards the ceiling as I heard the wind howl inside my room. Then I felt the soles of my bare feet hit the soft carpeted floor, and I barely managed to keep myself from falling over.

As I steadied myself against the wall, breathing heavily, I looked up to see that my room had been turned into a war zone in a matter of seconds. My stuff lay scattered all over the floor, but to my relief, there was nothing that couldn't be fixed easily. After I had finished putting everything back where it belonged, I cautiously went to the door in case my newfound "gifts" started acting up again. Touching the doorknob within an unharmed hand, I barely registering the electric shock that passed through it as my skin came in contact with the metal, which was something I had gotten used to over the last few days.

I walked through the hallway to reach the bathroom, getting another shock from the doorknob as I went inside, and I took a good look at myself in the mirror. My hair was a rat's nest, and my eyes were wild, but other than that, I hardly looked like I had been burned, frozen, and electrocuted all at once, and for those of you who are curious, it is _not _a pleasant experience.

Ignoring the shock of static as I touched the metal handle of the faucet, I splashed myself with ice-cold water and ran a hand down my wet face. I stopped my hand in its tracks as I looked up at the mirror, where a single dark eye stared back at me, the other obscured by my long fingers. Just what the hell was I turning into?

I sighed as I cut off the flow of icy water, getting yet another electrical shock as I touched the metal of the faucet handle, and my fingers gripped the edge of the sink's ceramic bowl. Reaching for the hand towel hanging from a peg on the wall, I dried my face before throwing it over my shoulder and closing my eyes.

Slowly exhaling through my nostrils, I calmed myself down and let my mind go blank and dark. A few seconds passed, and in the darkness of my mind's eye, my face appeared, clear as day. Equally visible was the muzzle of the gun pressed against the side of my doppelgänger's head, but his face was unconcerned, his eyes closed. Then his eyes shot open, and the gun went off with a bang. From the other side of my clone's face erupted the gun's muzzle flare, which manifested itself as glowing blue shapes that looked like pieces of shattered glass flying through the air.

Back in the real world, I opened my eyes, and I saw that the man in the mirror was staring at me with a determined look in his dark eyes. With a snap of my fingers, a blue fireball burst into life and burned above my palm, and as I clenched my hand into a fist, the fire escaped from the gaps between my fingers. As the lips of the man in the mirror curled up into a small smile, I decided that it was high time for me to learn _control_.

—

Two days later after school, I was humming "The Power" by Snap! as I made dinner in the kitchen. As the gun in my mind's eye went off with a bang, I opened my eyes and held my palm up. The moisture in the air froze to make neat little ice cubes in the palm of my hand, which then fell into the pitcher of amber-colored iced tea with a few splashes. Now that the drink was taken care of, I could focus on preparing the main course.

When I had finished putting the ingredients into the pan, I raised my hand, and it glowed a bright electric blue as a tendril of electricity the same color as my hand arced itself towards the spatula lying on the counter. I caught the spatula by its metal shaft as it was pulled through the air towards my hand, and I then turned my attention back to the frying pan. Well, what can I say? With great power comes great perks.

After dinner, it was playtime with my new powers. Sure, using them was painful, and the apartment turned into a complete mess whenever I started messing around with the fireballs, but to be honest, I was having _way _too much fun to care. Snapping my fingers to conjure up another fireball, I began tossing it back and forth between my hands as if it were just a tennis ball. As the fireball landed in my right hand, I willed the flames to crawl up my arm as I did the wave. I couldn't help but smile as I felt the now-friendly warmth of the fire move across my shoulder blades to the other hand.

As the flames reached their destination, I held my hand up in the air to gaze in awe as they burned bright blue and flickered merrily. All good things had to come to an end, though, and I snuffed out the flames by clenching my fist. This made way for the thin layer of white frost that began to cover the back of my hand like a glove covered with ground diamonds. I examined my frosty fingers for a moment before burning away the ice with a quick burst of flame that enveloped my hand.

Closing my eyes, I began to focus on the tingling sensation that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Blue electricity like barbed wire arced from my bare skin and writhed in the air like Chinese dragons as I raised my hands with their palms up towards the ceiling. The lightning then jumped from one set of fingertips to the other, and it began to move up and down my body like a glowing snake. Wherever it went, I could feel my skin tingle, and the hairs on my body stood on end as the electricity spiraled back up to my hand.

I quickly seized hold of the lightning, heedless of any risk of death by electrocution, and it was absorbed back into my body through my glowing blue hand. There was a slight numbness in my extremities from the pain my body had gone through from using my powers, but other than that, I was just fine. "Alright, I guess that's enough practice for today…"

—

The next day, I was busy fooling around with my powers again. It had been a productive day, and I had learned several new things about my powers, namely, that while I was invulnerable to my own flames, I could accidentally burn other things if I wasn't careful. That lesson was learned when I thought it would be a good idea for me to try juggling multiple fireballs at once, despite being unable to juggle even regular balls. Not my greatest moment of genius, as you might've guessed.

After a panicky minute of desperately beating out the flames, the fire had finally gone out, leaving an ugly black burn on the living room rug, but luckily for me, it was double-sided. Breathing a sigh of relief at the thought of not having to come up with a very creative lie to explain why Mom's favorite carpet had been burnt to a crisp, my thoughts then turned to how other people might react if I ever decided to let them in on my secret. To be honest, I didn't know if they would accept me for my powers or call me a freak, or worse, do that and then call the government on me so that I could be sent to a lab to be dissected. As I played around, I had a mental debate over whether or not to show Mom my powers when I got home, but at the moment, I was still on the fence.

An icy hand of fear then seized my heart as the doorbell rang. I froze in shock. Mom wasn't due to come home from her business trip for at least another few days. I didn't really have any friends that I felt comfortable inviting home, nor any money with which to order something, so who the hell could be knocking at my door? I forced myself to take a deep breath to try and steady myself before heading towards the door to answer it.

Setting upright a lamp that I had accidentally knocked over, I took slow steps towards the door, like a condemned man walking towards the gallows. Nervously peering through the peephole, my fear only intensified as I saw the stranger standing outside my door. It was a woman, with dark eyes and equally dark hair cut just above her shoulders. She was wearing a white pantsuit that must've been a pain to keep clean, but what got my attention was the necklace hanging around her throat, whose shape reminded me of the cross of the Knights Templar from the Crusades.

My hand hesitated for a moment as it reached for the doorknob, and it wasn't because I was scared of getting shocked again. Mustering my courage with one final breath, I gripped the doorknob hard enough to turn my knuckles white. There was no turning back for me now.

With one final twist of the wrist, I opened the door for her, and did my best to smile welcomingly and not look guilty of being caught at a bad time. The woman nodded politely towards me, and she opened her mouth to speak with a slight accent that I guessed was Hispanic. "Good afternoon. Are you Chase Mercer?"


	3. Prologue - Tier 3

"Good afternoon. Are you Chase Mercer?"

I nodded in response as I thought over what I would say, partly to avoid giving anything away, and partly because it kept me from being distracted by the unpleasant hypothetical situations my imagination conjured up. Just how did this woman know my name, anyway? "Yes, that's me."

The stranger, however, wasn't paying any attention to me. Instead, she was peering over my shoulder into the apartment, which resembled the final scenes of a disaster flick, when the danger had finally passed. She soon turned her attention back to me, however, with a new light in her eyes that I couldn't quite make head or tail of. "Bee problem?"

"No." I answered laconically. I was still on edge from her suddenly showing up at my door, so I resolved to withhold as much as I could from her. "May I ask who you are?"

"My name is of no importance." The stranger responded, and I frowned a bit at that. "We most likely won't meet again after today."

"Alright, then." I said, reluctantly letting the subject drop. "So what brings you all the way out here to see me today?"

"I represent an organization headquartered in London — a very large organization with branches across the globe and connections in every government." The stranger said. "We pull strings — _big _strings. Prime ministers, presidents, kings…"

"I see. However, that doesn't really explain what your organization wants with little old me." I remarked, figuring that I could get away with speaking my mind so long as I wasn't blatantly rude.

The stranger didn't seem to mind the interruption, but her face grew more serious as she spoke. "Dark days are coming. The world is in turmoil, and we're recruiting. Soldiers, agents, adventurers, crusaders…"

Was this lady kidding me? Dark days? World in turmoil? It all sounded like something from the blurb on the back cover of a cheap paperback thriller you buy at airport newsstands to pass the time with on a long flight. However, a whisper sounded from deep within the recesses of my subconscious, saying that this stranger spoke the truth. "Sorry, but… I'm not really any of the things you want to be part of your little club. Well… unless you count occasionally sticking up for someone in the comments of a YouTube video as being a crusader."

The stranger smiled. "Contrary to what you might believe, you might just be the kind of new blood we're looking for. We offer good terms: a fresh start, a network unlike any other, unlimited resources, a fantastic medical plan, and a way for you to use your incredible powers."

Insurance _plus _the chance to put my powers to better use than wrecking my apartment? She almost had me sold on the idea of joining up. Almost. "So what if I decide to say _no_? What if I decide that I like my life the way it is right now?"

"It may be a big transition, but look at it _this_ way." The stranger responded. "This is a unique opportunity. You have been chosen. You have been granted powers beyond what most can imagine. So you can either become an outcast in a world that will never understand or accept what you've become, or you can join others like you. You can take a stand with them against the rising darkness, and embark on a journey into the unknown, into the hidden places, into the secret world."

I looked down at my hands, and I curled my fingers into a fist as I remembered the pain and pleasure that came with utilizing my powers. I then looked up at the stranger, who gave me a warning stare that never wavered as she spoke. "You don't have to make a decision now. The choice, as we're so fond of saying, is entirely yours. But know this: your emerging powers will attract plenty of attention, and not everyone is as… _accommodating _as we are, even to children as young as you are. On your own, you'll be easy prey. You might not even last the week."

The icy hand of fear that had slowly loosened its grip during the conversation now seized my heart full-force. If people like me existed, then what else could be out there, waiting to gnaw my face off at the first opportunity? "And if I do decide to take the proverbial red pill?"

In response, the stranger handed me a white envelope, complete with a red wax seal bearing the same cross symbol as her necklace. "If you do, then this will tell you what you need to do. There are instructions inside. Use it or don't use it — it's your prerogative. You won't see me again. I trust you'll make the right decision."

"Thank you. I'll be sure to give your offer some serious thought." I answered as I took the envelope from her hand. The stranger nodded before turning around and walking away. A question then came to mind, and I called after her. "Hey! So what's the name of your organization, anyway?"

The stranger paused before turning around again to answer my question. "Our organization is called the Templars. You may have heard of us. We've been around a while. Good day."

* * *

The next day after school, I was trying out a new recipe in the kitchen when my iPhone began ringing on the kitchen counter. Covering the saucepan full of tomato bisque with a lid, I left it on the stove to simmer before picking up my phone: it was Mom calling. "Hello?"

A tired, but gentle voice answered on the other side of the line. "Hi, honey. How are you?"

"Eh, you know… Same old, same old. Just trying out a new recipe for tomato bisque." I answered nonchalantly as I glanced at the microwave's clock. I wouldn't have to do anything for the next twenty-five minutes or so, leaving me free to talk to my mother. "So how's London?"

Mom works as an executive assistant in a multinational corporation, so she travels with her boss to important business meetings pretty often. As we continued our conversation about the sights, I could sense that there was more to this phone call than just checking to see how I was doing. "So did anything interesting happen?"

"Well, actually…" Mom began, and I could just imagine her pursing her lips. "I received an email mentioning your name just a few days ago. Something about… a summer program here in London."

"Oh yeah, I remember receiving a letter and a brochure about that in the mail not too long ago. It said that they were looking for, uh… gifted and talented children." I said as I picked up said brochure with my free hand. It had been in the envelope the stranger from the Templars had given me, along with the set of written instructions.

"I see…" Mom said thoughtfully. "I managed to meet with one of their representatives here in the city as well — a Mr. Richard Sonnac, if I remember correctly. He was very polite, and he seemed especially interested in you."

"I see…" I asked, raising an eyebrow. There was a momentary pause in the conversation that seemed to last longer than it really was, and I tapped my finger on the back of my phone's case. We had finally arrived at the Big Question, and it was up to me to break the ice. "So… can I go?"

"I dunno, Chase — even with them providing financial aid, it's still pretty expensive…" Mom said with a sigh, and I visualized her closing her dark eyes as she scratched the back of her head, just beneath where she usually kept her dark hair neatly clipped back.

"I know, I know. The price is nothing to sneeze at, sure, but this will a great opportunity for me! Besides, do you _really_ want to disappoint these guys by turning their offer down after they've gone through the trouble of contacting us personally?"

Mom chuckled a little before answering. "Alright, Mr. Enthusiastic, here's the deal: keep your grades up, and you'll get your trip to England. We'll talk about the details when I get home. Love you, honey."

"Deal. Love you too, Mom. See you later." I answered, with that, Mom hung up, leaving me free to put the finishing touches on my tomato bisque with a new spring in my step.


	4. London Calling

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to London Heathrow Airport…" The flight attendant announced over the intercom, and I groaned as I slowly opened my eyelids to gaze out the window. Sure enough, we were in the airfield of London Heathrow Airport, the busiest airport in the United Kingdom. All around me, the other passengers were already getting out of their seats to retrieve their belongings from the overhead compartments. After retrieving my own backpack, I walked down the aisle of the airplane to the jetway, where I finally stepped foot inside the airport terminal.

As I waited for my luggage to arrive at the baggage claim, I opened up the Spotify app on my phone to listen to some music on my earbuds. By the time I stepped out of the terminal, roll-along suitcase in hand, I was rocking out to Enur's "Whine" and feeling pretty good. Being only fifteen, this was my first time traveling alone, and personally, I think it went pretty well — no missing luggage, no unexpected delays, no nothing.

As I tapped my foot to the beat of the European dance hit, trying to ignore the sticky English humidity, I looked around to see if someone was there to pick me up. According to the instructions I had been given, there would be someone to pick me up and take me directly to Ealdwic, where the Templars' headquarters were located. Sending off a quick text to Mom, telling her that my plane had landed safely, I glanced up to see a black London taxi slow to a stop in front of me, its yellow roof light on. The window then rolled down to reveal the middle-aged driver. "Need a ride to Ealdwic, Mr. Mercer?"

This time, I was only mildly surprised to meet another stranger who knew my name. With a nod, I wordlessly climbed into the backseat with my luggage, and we were off. As the hackney carriage drove on for the better part of an hour, I took the time to stare out the window at my first foreign city. I had only ever been to cities within the States before, so this was a new and exciting experience for me.

All good things have to come to an end, unfortunately, and the cab finally parked itself in front of a police barricade. I swallowed nervously as I noticed the two police officers equipped with bulletproof vests and submachine guns standing guard. "Sorry, young sir, but this seems to be as far as I can take you. Best of luck to you, and don't worry about your fare."

"Thanks for the ride, sir." I said to the mustached driver as I climbed out of the taxi with my luggage, and I watched as it drove off and disappeared around a corner. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves as I paused my music and removed my earbuds, I turned around to face the bobbies in front of the barricade.

Taking slow and steady steps towards them, I was soon halted by the raise of a bobby's hand. "Sorry! Can't let you through without authorization."

Reaching into my pocket slowly as to not alarm the cops, I pulled out the letter of instruction the Templars had given me, and held it out for them to inspect. The officer didn't seem to recognize the Templars' seal on the flap of the envelope, however. "I dunno what that's supposed to be, but it's not…"

An arm then shoots forward over my shoulder, flashing a badge to the two guards. Startled, I looked over my shoulder to see a woman in a black trench coat standing behind me. Her blonde hair was cut to just above her shoulders, and her strict face made no room for argument. "Alright, lads. Inspector Shelley — the boy's with me."

Without another word, Inspector Shelley seized my arm and dragged me past the policemen and through the slight gap between two of the sections of the barricade. Once we were out of the guards' earshot, Inspector Shelley let go of my arm, and I winced slightly as I massaged my bicep. She had quite the grip on her. "Do us both a favor and don't go flashing that letter around out here. The boys on the cordon haven't been briefed. As far as they're concerned, this is all just heightened awareness after the terrorist attack in Tokyo."

She then looked me in the eye, and she watched me like a hawk does its prey. "But I don't deal with the bureaucracy. I deal with the truth — about the secret London, about the Templars."

"So you know about the Templars, huh?" I asked rhetorically, and Inspector Shelley nodded as she took a moment to give me the old once-over, her frown deepening as her eyes focused on my face.

"Aye, that I do, and speaking of the Templars, aren't you a little young to be joining up, Mister…?"

"Mercer. Chase Mercer." I answered. "And I guess I am a little young, but… they promised that they could teach me how to control my powers."

Inspector Shelley nodded somberly as she beckoned for me to lean in closer, and as I did so, her face softened slightly so that it still appeared stern, yet… motherly. "I'd say I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, but you have no idea. Even I only get as involved as I have to, for the sake of us little people. You've seen it on the news? The Tokyo Incident?"

I nodded silently, and Inspector Shelley continued. "That's what happens when your new crowd lets things out of hand. Not here — not on my watch. That's the deal — that's always been the deal."

"Duly noted." I responded levelly as Inspector Shelley straightened up.

"Glad to see that at least one member of the current generation understands me. Go see one of the 'prophets' prophesying up the road by the tube station. They'll fill you in on the kind of crazy you've got ahead of you. Best be prepared."

On that note, Inspector Shelley turned around and walked back to the cordon, raising a hand in farewell without looking over her shoulder at me. "My sincerest condolences!"

As I turned around to face the other end of the street, I adjusted my backpack before setting off into the unknown. The wheels of my roll-along made a steady _bump-bump-bump_ on the flagstones of Ealdwic as I walked, and that was all the music I needed as I made my way up the street. Past the subway station was a small square, where a street preacher stood on a crate amidst the dozen or so people listening to him. Was this one of the prophets Inspector Shelley was talking about?

As I skirted the edges of the audience, I took the time to observe the street preacher. On the surface, he looked just like any other homeless beggar, with a seemingly-random assortment of pins, scarves, and clothing that was just too heavy for the summer heat. He wore a set of headphones beneath his orange trapper cap, and round sunglasses that wouldn't have looked out of place on John Lennon concealed his eyes. He spoke in a high-pitched voice as the arms of his kingly hand puppet waved around. "Too late to start recycling! Too late to go to raves to save the gorillas! To cash out those Anansi shares! There's a storm coming, _mondo_ storm! Paint your glass houses shut!"

Father Hobo paused before holding up the back of his free hand next to his mouth in an aside much deeper than the voice I assumed was supposed to be the puppet's. "You don't have to take his word for it. This is a warning from the sun. It says it's old, tired, and scared of death! It says you've lived as young gods for too long! Spoiled children who only need to wish for something, and it'll come true! Well, those days are gone now and won't be here again!"

Father Hobo cackled as he and his puppet turned their heads around to look at each other. "Sorry!"

Though I couldn't confirm my suspicions due to his sunglasses, I could've sworn I felt Father Hobo's eyes specifically on me for a moment. Then the moment passed, and he turned his head towards the puppet, nodding. "I'll show you how it all goes down, through the medium of unreliable narration. A vision of the future! This could be your lucky day!"

Father Hobo paused to smile at his puppet before speaking in a softer voice. "Tomorrow and all the ones after… not so much."

Father Hobo then lowered his puppet completely before turning towards the audience. Every few seconds or so, I could feel his eyes focus on me, and the sensation gave me the chills. "It's a hot, wet day… Ever notice how the apocalypse always comes out on a wet day?"

Off in the distance, I heard the rumble of thunder, though a glance up towards the sky showed that it was still a clear day. "There's the smell of warm air and stale piss…"

At this, the smell of an unclean public toilet assault my nostrils, and my stomach gurgled out an unpleasant threat to reacquaint me with the airplane food I had for breakfast that morning. "The atmosphere is electric. I mean, _actually _electric, sparking off the tracks, lifting and snapping your hair…"

As Father Hobo spoke, I felt a familiar tingling of skin, but for now, the energy didn't seem to want to manifest itself as electricity. "A voice over the speakers that you don't hear — you _itch_…"

At this, I had to consciously stop myself from scratching the back of my neck, and Father Hobo spoke his next words. "The black signal sounds…"

My vision began to swim, and I was reminded of a Health class back at school, where the police officer visiting our school made all of us put on beer goggles to educate us on the dangers of drunk driving, but this was on a whole other level. I felt myself lose all sense of balance, and as I took my next step, my foot somehow missed the pavement entirely, and I hit the ground painfully on my side. Even as the darkness began crawl into my vision like an inky cloud, I managed to cling to consciousness long enough to hear Father Hobo's last words: "Lights out!"


	5. Ground Zero

As I regained consciousness, I opened my eyes to see… darkness. I blinked once, but other than my eyes, I couldn't feel any other part of my body. Then I heard a moan so close that it could've only come from myself, but I hadn't uttered that sound. Did that mean I was just a passenger inside my own body?

Gradually, I became more aware of my surroundings. My skin brushed against cold tile instead of Ealdwic flagstone warmed by the English sun, and I instinctively knew that I was indoors. Most noticeable of all, however, was the subtle, but foul smell that I couldn't attribute to anything I knew wafting into my nostrils. Once again, my stomach threatened to reacquaint me with my breakfast with a menacing rumble, and then I heard the voice of a young woman spoke from somewhere outside of the darkness. "It's all shut down. Kaidan-cho, everything — from the park to Orochi Tower."

The voice belonged to Rose White, a Templar, though I wasn't sure how I knew that. Before I could ponder it too deeply, another young and female voice spoke up with just a tinge of an English accent. Somehow, I knew that it belonged to Mei Ling, an agent of the Dragon. "SDF quarantine — good news for Tokyo, bad news for us."

"I though the Dragon thrived on chaos." A man's deep voice drawled in a much heavier accent than Mei's. It was Alex McCall, whom I could confirm was a member of the Illuminati.

Mei shot back at Alex immediately. "Someone once told me the Illuminati had all the answers."

"The Illuminati doesn't have _all_ the answers — just most of them." Alex retorted, and at that, my eyes — my _real _ones — flew open like shutters, and my body began moving without my input. As my body pushed itself up into a sitting position on the cold tile, I noticed that the color of its skin was too dark to be mine, and the sleeve covering its arm didn't belong to anything I owned. It was then I realized that I was in someone else's body, and part of me wondered if I had been hooked up to an Animus in my sleep.

The eyes then looked up to see three people standing nearby: two girls, one guy. One of the girls had platinum blonde hair, and she wore a red gilet over a fuzzy white sweater, with a shotgun hanging from a sling across her stomach. The other woman was definitely Asian, and the tattoos across her body glowed with magical energy as she tightened her grip on the hilt of her katana. The only guy in the trio, whom I assumed to be Alex McCall, was in a trench coat and desperate need of personal grooming.

The eyes then began to gaze all around the room, taking in as much detail as she could and allowing me to get a good look around. From what I could tell, we were situated in a public building, and the characters written on the walls were definitely an Asian language. The characters were too simple to be Chinese, but they didn't seem Korean, either. That, and Rose's comments about the SDF, Kaidan-cho, and Orochi Tower left only one possible answer to where I could be: Tokyo, Japan.

If the circumstances were different, my inner otaku might've been excited to have finally set foot in Tokyo, if only vicariously through the eyes of another person. However, I just didn't have it in me to be excited. The very air itself seemed to oppress any good feeling within me, and with every breath my host took through their nostrils, it suppressed my emotions even further. As my host continued looking around, I realized that what I had first assumed to be a mall was actually a subway, judging from the signs on the wall pointing in different directions.

At this revelation, my thoughts screeched to a halt as icy shock coursed through my nonexistent body. Did this mean I was witnessing ground zero of the Tokyo Incident firsthand? My suspicions were then confirmed by the voice of Rose White, which came from the girl with the sweater and shotgun. "They're saying it's a bomb… It's _never _just a bomb."

The other girl, whom I assumed to be Mei Ling, nodded as she pointed at something squirming on the floor. It looked like a rope of black tar, about as thick as my arm, and its dark surface glistened like oil. Somehow, I could even hear it pulsing with… _life_, though I hesitate to use the word, in the same way I hesitate to use the word _food _for my mom's attempts at cooking when I was younger. "It's something worse — something that brought the Filth with it."

Rose glared at the strand of Filth creeping across the tile, as if she could set it on fire with the power of her mind. Nothing happened, however. "So we fight. That's what we Templars do."

"I enjoy a good fight…" Alex began as he pinched the fabric of his crisp black pants and tugged on it. "It's just that these trousers are bloody velvet."

Well, if you're expecting a fight, then why the hell would you dress up? Unfortunately, my host's mouth would not cooperate in delivering this message to Mr. McCall, and so my words were left unheard as my host got up onto their feet. Mei was the first to say something to them. "Sarah! Thank Gaia! How are you feeling?"

My host, who was apparently named Sarah, took a moment to work out the kinks in her body before answering in a voice that may or may not have been older than Rose and Mei. "I'll be fine."

"If Zuberi was here, he'd tell us this is the worst time to argue." Mei said, her grip on her katana loosening up just a little.

"Well, he's not." Rose answered as she pointed her index finger at a set of stairs going up beyond the heavy metal shutter ahead of them. "He's down there somewhere."

Sarah walked over to where a fallen shotgun lay on the floor, near the metal shutters. Picking it up, she then pressed a button near the trigger, and pumped the slide once. An empty red shotgun shell flew out of the chamber and clattered onto the cold tile, and as Sarah looked up from readying her weapon, we heard a scream.

Something moved on the other side of the shutters, and a woman tripped down the bottom stairs. Scrambling back onto her feet, the woman banged her fists against the shutters, crying out desperately in Japanese. Neither I or Sarah could understand what she was saying, but it was plainly obvious that she was terrified of something chasing her. Rose was the first to speak as Mei rushed to a nearby control panel and wrenched the metal panel open. "Open the gate!"

"I'm trying, but it's inside the electrics somehow!" Mei said desperately as she fiddled with the wires inside the panel. "The Filth…"

Whatever Mei was about to say next died in her throat as a man appeared from the stairs behind the woman. His skin was covered with the oily Filth, and the two tendrils writhing atop his head looked like horns, which matched the positively demonic look in the man's glowing golden eyes perfectly as he hunched over like some kind of feral beast. This… _thing _definitely wasn't human, and I instinctively knew that this was the fate of those infected by the Filth — assuming they weren't put out of their misery first. He growled, and that was all the warning the woman ever got before his black claws knocked her down onto the floor.

Zombie-san then pounced onto the woman and began to tear her apart, cutting off her screams abruptly as blood spattered their surroundings, and Sarah's eyes widened with the rest as they watched in helpless horror. As for myself, my nonexistent stomach was doing backflips. I tried desperately to close or avert my eyes, but it seemed as if they were glued to the gruesome sight before me.

"No!" Mei cried out.

"Fuck me…" Alex whispered, barely audible amidst Infected-san's growls.

Rose's voice wasn't much louder than Alex's as she uttered her distress. "Oh… my… God…"

As for me, I was certain I would've been reacquainted with my breakfast by now if my consciousness hadn't been cohabiting with Sarah inside her body, but at the moment, I'd have to make do with Sarah's stunned silence. With the poor girl dead, Infected-san leapt back and rushed out of sight. Sarah's head then jerked to the side as she heard something coming from the ventilation shafts. Alex barely had time to call out a warning before Infected-san then leapt out from the darkness. "Watch out!"

Sarah swung her shotgun up to fire, and a loud bang was heard as the buckshot fired from the shotgun found a nice new home in Zombie-san's brain matter. As Sarah ejected the empty shell from her shotgun, I saw that black ooze seeped out from Infected-san's head where blood should've been. I have to say: I wasn't sorry to see it die.

"Nice shooting!" Rose said as she readied her own shotgun, and she fell silent as more animalistic screams were heard coming from the vents.

"How many have they got in there?" Alex wondered aloud as a fireball burned above his palm, and as the first of those infected by the Filth emerged from the vent, Alex hurled it at its head. As the infected collapsed onto the floor, writhing in pain as the fire ate away at its flesh, more of its kind emerged from the vents. As Rose fired buckshot into the vents where the rest of the horde was bottlenecked, Mei slashed her katana across the throat of another infected monster, taking its head clean off.

As the last of the infected horde fell to a crescendo of shotgun blasts and magical explosions combined with the clean sound of Mei's blade slicing through the air, Mei shook her head as the blade of her katana suddenly burst into flame, immolating the filthy goo contaminating the steel. "It's gone viral so fast… If this gets out into Tokyo…"

"It doesn't. We stop it here. Whatever it takes." Rose said as she pumped a fresh shell into her shotgun, and the sound of the empty casing hitting the floor only served to punctuate her statement. Mei nodded, and she went back to work on the control panel. A few seconds later, the metal shutters rumbled back up into the ceiling, allowing the group to access the stairs.

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." Alex said dryly as he stepped forward, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, and Rose glared at his back as she followed him under the shutters.

"Thanks for the encouragement, Alex."

"I was only trying to be realistic." Alex said without looking over his shoulder at the rest of the group, though Sarah and I both strongly suspected that he was hiding a smirk.

"Let's do this. Take it like all the other occult disasters, right?" Mei said as she gripped the hilt of her katana in anticipation, and the others nodded in agreement as they too readied themselves.

"We really need to stop meeting like this." Alex remarked as he lit another fireball in his hand, and he used it as a torch as they descended down the unmoving escalators to their right. As they neared the first landing, the wall to our left suddenly exploded, sending debris flying into the opposite wall. Dark fog then began to leak out from the new hole in the wall, and monstrous howls reached their ears.

Sarah and Rose opened fire into the hole, and their buckshot wreaked havoc amidst the horde as the flares erupting from the muzzles of their weapons lit up the fog. As Alex picked off the infected that managed to survive the barrage of buckshot, Mei called out to the rest of the group. "Don't let it get on you! Don't even breathe it in!"

As the fog finally dispersed, the group found themselves standing amidst the corpses of their attackers, and as Sarah and Rose reloaded their shotguns, Rose spoke. "It's reacting to us, like it knows we're coming."

"This stuff can't think." Alex said. "It's a cancer. Cancer doesn't know you're coming, it just is."

The rest of the group fell into silence as the moment's respite ended far too soon, and as they continued their way down the second set of broken escalators, they came across another set of metal shutters blocking their way. Alex then spoke up. "New plan: fight chaos with chaos. Keep the bastards at a distance, then take them out."

Rose rolled her eyes at Alex. "_That's_ your plan?"

Alex shrugged. "Well, it's _a _plan."

Rose sighed as she shook her head, which was covered by a white beanie. Setting her shotgun aside for the moment, she reached down and pulled up on the bottom of the shutters. After a moment of exertion, Rose let out a heavy grunt as she sent the shutters back up into the ceiling, and as she stood up, she turned towards Sarah. "You've got point, Sarah. Make every shot count."

Sarah nodded, and with her shotgun at the ready, she led the way onto the train platform. As the group entered the area, more of the infected rushed to meet them. While those at the front rushed into the fray like your typical Leeroy Jenkins, others stayed back at a distance to hurl smoky fireballs. As the girls held the line against the attacking infected, Alex traded shots with the fireball-throwing infected.

As the last infected fell, the group took the time to prepare themselves for their next encounter. Mei spoke. "We're gonna need to use some heavier powers. Don't hold back, alright?"

Alex cleared his throat as he straightened up, dusting off his clothes as he did so. "I was pacing myself."

Mei then turned towards Sarah as she pointed at the tracks heading deeper into the subway. "Listen, Sarah, you have to find Zuberi. We'll hold them here and make a stand."

Sarah nodded, and as she watched the others head towards where more of the infected could be heard growling, she could overhear Mei's mutters. "God, I could murder for a strawberry smoothie right about now…"

Huh, a girl after my own heart. As Sarah made her way towards the tracks, she spotted a wire gate leading to another line, but as she drew closer, another monster rounded the corner on the other side of the gate and broke through it as if it was made of tissue paper. The new mass of Filth was twice Sarah's height, and its glowing golden eyes burned with hatred as it lumbered towards her. Sarah aimed her shotgun at the monster's head, but instead of buckshot coming out like before, a jet of roaring flame burst forth from the shotgun's muzzle.

The monster roared as its head was wreathed in flames, and it smashed the rails with its meaty fists. Sarah leapt backwards away from the monster, and fired off another plume of flame as her feet touched the ground like a cat's. As Sarah's magic made contact, the monster fell forward with a loud cry, and its body landed with a loud thud that reverberated through the floor.

Its killer, however, ignored the body as she stepped past it, and she made her way to the other line, where a train stood, derailed. One of its cars still had its doors open and its lights working, for whatever reason, and she climbed inside. As she entered the train car, another set of doors on the other end of the car was blasted open, and a man in a Kevlar vest and black uniform sailed through the opening and hit the wall on the other side. As he slumped to the floor, groaning in pain, another man appeared.

Sarah's mind immediately identified him as Zuberi, a powerful shaman from Haiti, and I took notice of his features. He was old, bearded, and dark-skinned, with gray dreadlocks and a staff tipped with feathers and a skull. As he caught sight of Sarah, Zuberi spoke in a deep baritone voice. "Ah, the cavalry has arrived."

Zuberi then turned his attention to the wounded man lying with his back against the wall, and Sarah recognized the dark uniform, which marked him as one of the Orochi Group's security personnel. "Even where the Filth corrupts, Gaia's power endures. Take it into yourself. Breathe it out. Will this broken body mended."

Sarah nodded, and holding her shotgun with one hand, she held the other one out towards the security guard. Blue mist then began to fall from her hand, and it shimmered as the man's eyes opened and took notice of Sarah and Zuberi. _"Arigatou gozaimasu…"_

Zuberi smiled at Sarah as the security guard stood up and checked the assault rifle he had been holding. "Good! But even Gaia will be tested by what is to come."

The conversation was then interrupted by the voice of Rose coming from behind Sarah. "Making a stand… wasn't working out."

Sarah turned around to see the others, all of them looking as if they had been in a war zone, which wasn't much of a stretch from the truth. Alex then spoke up as he pointed out the window of the train car, to where more of the infected were shambling about as filthy tentacles like the one from before groped around for something to latch onto. "Yeah, about that… this ain't looking much better, to be honest."

"Now is not the time for argument!" Zuberi said, shaking his head, and he led the group out of the train and onto the platform. "We must reach the next platform!"

"Told you he would say that." Mei said quietly to the others as they stepped onto the other platform. As the infected took notice and rushed towards them, the group responded with guns, magic, and steel. The security guard that had joined the group turned out to be a big help as he opened fire on the infected with his assault rifle on full-auto.

The battle seemed to be going well, but I could feel the temperature Sarah's heart drop to subzero temperatures as Rose shouted a warning amidst the din. "The gate's opening!"

Sarah looked to see the metal shutters retract into the ceiling on their own as Mei cried out. "I think that's bad news! …Yup, definitely bad news!"

A new wave of infected arrived to reinforce the decimated horde. The group attacked with new fervor, though there seemed to be no end to those infected by the Filth. As Sarah slammed the butt of her shotgun into an infected that had gotten too close for comfort, we could hear Rose shout amidst the gunfire. "They're not stopping!"

"And they will not stop!" Zuberi answered over the din as he struck an infected in the face with his staff before blasting another into the far wall with his magic. "This is all to hold us back!"

"Top marks for effort!" Alex said as he punched an infected in the nose with a fiery face, wreathing its face in orange flickering flames. As the infected clawed at its face in pain, Alex responded with a right cross that sent the infected sprawling onto the platform.

"Someone has to push through." Zuberi shouted. "This confusion may be all the time we have!"

"Someone?" Mei repeated as she neared Sarah, and the two of them made eye contact before Mei pointed her sword at the open gate. "Sarah, go!"

"Go! Go now!" Alex said as he dodged a lunging infected before riposting with another fireball. His movements were getting sloppy from having to exert himself both physically and magically, and if Sarah didn't do something soon, they would all fall at the hands of the Filth.

Sarah needed no further encouragement, and she sped through the platform and up the escalator on the other side, blasting away at the infected to thin their numbers as much as she could. She could hear the others following her, and as she reached the landing, dust fell from the ceiling above. Rose barely had time to give her last warning. "Look out! It's all coming down!"

The ceiling then collapsed, separating Sarah from the rest of the group by using giant bars of cement the size of shipping containers. She had no choice but to go on ahead with the others. She turned around to see more of the filthy tendrils seeking something to grab hold of, but she gave them plenty of space as she made her way down the escalators to the next platform. On the tracks was a deserted train, but behind it…

The space beyond the rails reminded me of my dream, and a sun burned in the distance as asteroids like cheese puffs tumbled slowly through the space. Within Sarah, I could feel her terror, confusion, and awe as she stared out into space, and she stepped closer to the void, right up to the yellow line separating the platform and the tracks. Then a sudden pain racked my head and threatened to split my skull open, and I could feel Sarah grasp her aching head as her vision became clouded and blurry. Sarah's grip on her shotgun slackened, and a second after her weapon had clattered onto the floor, she fell onto her side in immense pain. After a few moments of agony, she blacked out, leaving me all alone in the darkness.


	6. Might Makes Right

Some time after my hobo-induced trip to the Tokyo Incident's ground zero, I became aware of the sunlight bearing down on my shut eyelids. I groaned as I slowly opened them, blinking in order for my eyes adjust to the sudden change in the light. Father Hobo and his audience were gone now, and I could feel what seemed to be a brick wall pressing against my back. Apparently, some good Samaritan had moved me and my luggage out of the way, and though I probably should've waited until I made sure my wallet was still in my pocket, I silently thanked the world for whatever remained of human decency these days.

"You look like you've just seen the end of the cosmos, mate." A voice said nearby, and I jerked my head in surprise to see a dark-skinned woman kneeling beside me. Opaque aviators hid her eyes from view, and she wore her dark hair in a ponytail. Her camouflage jacket was open over her street clothes, and a pair of dog tags hung from the ball chain around her neck. She stood up and extended her hand towards me, and I grasped it so that I could pull myself back up onto my feet. After I had dusted off my jeans and patted my back pocket to confirm that my wallet was still there, I took a moment to stretch after my unexpected coma. "How long was I out?"

The woman shrugged. "Long enough. I found you passed out at the back of the Fallen King's crowd, so I dragged your arse over here and watched your bags for you."

"Thanks. So what was that you were saying about the end of the cosmos?"

"Ah, that." The woman said, nodding. "I know the feeling. We're on the edge of it, and it's time to play your part. Zamira Vata's the name. Me and you, we're blood now, yeah? Templars for the win and all that!"

"Yeah, I guess so." I said as I shook her hand. It was more heavily callused than mine, so she probably did work a lot harder than working in a kitchen. "My name's Chase Mercer. It's nice to meet you."

As we let go of our handshake, Zamira frowned slightly as she took a good look at me, hands on her hips. "Looks like you've got some training to do before you're ready for your first kill. You'll want to go speak with Sonnac at the Templars' gaff. It's just down the road from here."

"Alright, I'll take your word for it." I answered as I shouldered my backpack and extended the handle of my roll-along suitcase so that I could get going. "Hope to see you around sometime!"

Zamira waved as I followed her directions, and I continued trudging the road towards another barricade. This particular barrier, however, was watched by people dressed in unfamiliar red uniforms emblazoned with the Templars' cross. They regarded me with curiosity as I approached them with caution. Call me crazy, but the closer I drew to the guards, the more I became aware of the buzz of power coming from them. It was as if each guard was a loudspeaker that hummed with the sound of magical power.

I handed the letter from the Templars to one of the guards, and he turned it over a few times before handing it back to me. "I'm guessing you're here to see Mr. Sonnac?"

I nodded silently, and the guard continued. "His office is down the hallway to the right when you get inside Temple Hall straight ahead."

"Thank you." I said as the guards parted to let me into the square. As I stepped into the plaza, I looked over my shoulder to see the Templar guards move back into position with perfect discipline. As I turned my head to face forward again, I let out a whistle as I took in the sights.

Water cascaded from the upper bowls of an ornately-carved fountain, and red banners emblazoned with the Templars' white cross hung all around the square. Past the fountain was a huge marble building with an ornate dome so large, it made me wonder if the Templars were compensating for something. Several armed guards wearing the same uniform as the ones at the entrance of square were stationed all around the place, but they seemed to ignore me as I made my way towards the building with the dome.

The guards at the entrance of the domed building were silent, giving no hint of acknowledging my presence as I stepped past them to the open doors of Temple Hall. Inside were stone walls lit by the torch sconces mounted on the smooth pillars supporting the ceiling. The magical power here was palpable to me, and it manifested itself as the sound of a piano accompanied by a choir of low voices that could be heard from every stone used to built this place. The majestic music spoke of ancient tradition and power — the kind of sound that commanded the respect of those who listened.

Remembering that I had other things to do than listen to the magic of the place, I hurried to my right and down the hall. There, a pair of mahogany doors stood slightly ajar, light peeking out from the crack between them. As I drew closer, I could see that the gap between the doors was just wide enough for me to get a good peek inside.

The office was richly furnished with red decor, and several oil paintings hung on the wall while a large fireplace crackled and provided most of the light in the room. A man in a black two-piece suit with a red tie sat in a desk across from the doors, a frown forming above his black goatee and his dark-skinned brow creasing as he peered at the paperwork he was scratching away at.

As my hand brushed against the door, I became aware of a pulsing sound in my ears and a thumping sensation against my fingertips, as if a heart hidden within the wood had started beating. The man in the room then glanced up at the doors, and he sat up straight as he looked in my direction. Perhaps I had set off some kind of magical notification system when I had touched the door. "Come in, come in!"

I pushed open the doors just enough for me to slip inside with my luggage, and the man smiled at me as I drew closer. "I'm very pleased you can follow directions on the back of a card. It is the basis for us getting along famously. Of course, with an establishment like this, we're practically in the yellow pages under 'Crusaders.'"

"Yeah, no kidding." I said as I took another glance around the room. "You guys trying to make up for something?"

The man chuckled in the refined manner of a gentleman as he stood up from his chair and walked over to me. "Personally, I frown on architectural bullying, but if one absolutely must throw one's weight around, it pays to erect a cathedral or two. Richard Sonnac."

"Chase Mercer." I responded in kind, smiling back at him as I shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally put a face to a name."

"The sentiment is shared." Mr. Sonnac said as he let go of my hand and began pacing around the room, hands clasped behind his back. "So you heeded our call to arms. You have questions, I can furnish you with answers. _Some_ answers.

"To begin with, you haven't strayed into some atrocious Dan Brown airport paperback. We are not the Knights Templar. That particular appellation went out in the 1300s, along with pageboy haircuts and burnings at the stake. no, we run a twenty-first century…"

Mr. Sonnac trailed off as we both turned to look at the massive Renaissance painting hanging above the fireplace. It was mildly amusing to look at, as it depicted an angel stomping on the throat of a demon so hard, its eyes were bugging out of its head like a cartoon character. We then turned our heads to make eye contact, and I raised an eyebrow at Mr. Sonnac as he shrugged.

"Well, let's say a _'forward-facing'_ organization, but one with its strength in ancient bonds of tradition. In loyalty. In blood. And, to be perfectly frank, in a sizable private army. Our firm guidance is needed to save the world from itself. We have kept the matters of squabbling secret societies and loathsome dimensions discreet…"

Mr. Sonnac's expression then clouded over. "Until the shadows began to peel back across the globe. Until these darkest of days came upon us. Now, the evidence is on television, for pity's sake!"

"You mean the Tokyo Incident, right?" I asked, and Mr. Sonnac nodded. "But television news has been around for what, almost a century? Surely, there must've been at least a _few _slip-ups now and then."

"There have, but never on this large a scale." Mr. Sonnac answered. "We are at war. Might will make right, and it will fall upon us to judge the correct application of might. It falls upon you as a soldier of the Templars."

"A soldier?" I repeated. "Hold on a second, here. I only came here so that I could learn to control my powers and protect myself from whatever's out there, not to fight in some secret war! I can barely control my powers, much less fight with them, and I'm sure you know I'm only fifteen!"

"Our reasons for seeking you out were not entirely altruistic, Mr. Mercer, as I'm sure you must've suspected when we contacted you." Mr. Sonnac said. "'There's no such thing as a free lunch,' as I believe the saying goes. We need every able-bodied man and woman we can get in order to stand against the rising darkness. Show me that you have the will, and we can teach you the way. Your remarkable powers can be honed and controlled… at least to less disastrous effect on property values."

Taking a deep breath in order to calm myself down, I silently stared down at my palms, curling my fingers into a fist in contemplation. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, sir. I just don't know if I'm cut out for this kind of life, even with fire coming out of my fingertips."

Mr. Sonnac brushed off my apology with a nod as he sat down in the chair behind his desk. "That's quite alright. I understand your concerns. We don't expect you to rush into the fray with nothing but a Kalashnikov rifle and C4 strapped to your chest. You'll go through basic training first. There is a private training area which we have reinforced for just that purpose. Leave your bags here, and I'll see to it that they're taken to where you'll be staying for the summer."

"Thank you, sir." I said politely as I took off my backpack and set it down next to my roll-along suitcase on the floor. As I passed through the mahogany doors again, I closed them shut and sighed before making my way. This was going to be a _long_ summer…

* * *

"Christ Almighty, we've got our work cut out for us…" I heard Brigadier Lethe mutter as his left eye stared hard at me, the other hidden behind an eyepatch. Despite his age and the brace around his left leg, the scars on his face and the medals on his muscled chest were enough to convince me that he could kick my ass six ways to Sunday, no sweat. "The Crucible is _my _house, and in my house, my word is _law_. Forget your mother's teat. From now on, _this _is your home."

Brigadier Lethe swept his arms around the vast marble hall known as "the Crucible." While no less stately than the rest of Temple Hall, there was no mistaking the Crucible for what it was: a training ground meant to prepare the Templars for their crusade against the things that went bump in the night. Skeletal demons with spikes growing out in uncomfortable places were chained up like punching bags or shackled to bloodstained wooden X-frames set up against the back wall, and I briefly wondered if there were monster rights activists in the secret world. "This is where you'll learn to stay alive. You've come here an empty slate. You've potential — that's why you were recruited — but that potential needs _strict_ guidance."

Brigadier Lethe then jabbed a finger at me, and then down at my hands, which were dangling at my sides. "You're a loaded weapon, and if you don't learn to control yourself and channel your powers, you'll end up hurting yourself _and _others. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-Yes." I answered, still somewhat intimidated by the old man, and the glare coming from Major Hardass only intensified. "Yes, _sir_!"

"It's good to see that you're catching on." Brigadier Lethe said, nodding. "You have the ability to manifest Anima, your life force, into the physical world. To enhance your strength, your physical attributes. To do _magic_. Martial magic. None of that faerie stuff! We don't do magic wands here."

I nodded, and Brigadier Lethe continued. "Never mind why this power's been awakened in you. You're not the only one, and you're not the Chosen One. You're part of an army, _our_ army, and from now on, you'll do as you're told. It's the way of the Templars. Am I understood?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

Brigadier Lethe nodded, and he swept his arms around the Crucible again. "Consider this your playground. With the help of a few props, we've done our best to make the environment as realistic as possible. The demons are tied up, but they bleed the same. Of course, it's not like being out on the front lines, but it's close enough. Any questions before we begin?"

I turned my head to look at one of the monsters chained up nearby. It was breathing heavily, like a chained dog about to attack. "What exactly _are_ these things, sir?"

"Those things are called rakshasa. They're basic hellhounds. We keep them chained. They used to make such a mess of the new recruits… You'll be using them for target practice today."

"Isn't that… unethical, sir?"

Brigadier Lethe shook his head. "Don't worry, they don't feel a thing, and they're unworthy of mercy. Spend your time in the Crucible well. There's no point rushing things. Out there, the demons aren't chained up, and you don't have me around to save your sorry arse. Well? Go on, get started! Show me what you can do."

I nodded, taking in a deep breath before walking over to one of the restrained rakshasa. As I drew closer, it snapped its teeth at me, panting for my blood. In my mind's eye, glass shards exploded from the side of my head as the gun went off, and with a nervous gulp, I snapped my fingers, feeling the magical energy I now knew to be anima flowing into the heat of the friction produced by my fingers. A blue fireball a little bigger than my fist then roared to life above my clenched fist. "Here goes nothing…"

I then thrust my fist forward towards the rakshasa as hard as I could, and the fireball struck the demon with the force of a cannonball. My attack exploded as it made contact with the monster's exposed flesh, and it let out a raspy scream filled with pain. I shivered slightly at the horrifying sound, and my stomach gurgled unpleasantly as I saw the burnt flesh caused by my attack, but I forced myself to suppress all the emotion that threatened to crack through my deadpan face. With a snap of my fingers, another blue fireball was conjured up, and the Crucible was filled with the sounds of explosions and screaming once more.


	7. Basic Training

As my back landed hard onto the padded floor of the gym near the Crucible for the umpteenth time, I let out a weak, hoarse groan at having the wind knocked right out of me. My view of the ceiling lights was then obscured by the face of my new partner. Apparently, Mr. Sonnac thought that leaving me to the tender mercies of Brigadier "Saint" George Lethe was a bad idea, and so for the majority of my training, I was assigned a new personal trainer by the name of Priscilla Ross, a recent college graduate who had just become a full-time Templar agent.

She was in her early twenties, with chin-length strawberry blonde hair that framed a face that was pretty in an accessible girl-next-door kind of way, and amber eyes looked at me in concern. As I had learned after the first of many one-sided sparring matches, Priscilla was also capable of using magic. While she couldn't manipulate the elements like I could, her talent lay in Reinforcement, which allowed her to pump anima into her body in order to enhance her strength, endurance, and speed to superhuman levels. However, she didn't need any of that when handing me my ass in sparring, due to her martial arts experience. "You okay there, Chase? Did I throw you too hard?"

"Nah… I'm fine." I uttered as I propped myself up onto my elbows and accepted Priscilla's helping hand. It was a few days after my arrival in London, and we were currently doing close quarters combat training. For the past few days, I had been training almost nonstop to become a soldier of the Templars. Spells, punches, kicks, grappling moves — they were all part of the curriculum of the two-week training course I was taking, along with one other skill Mom would've strongly disapproved of.

"Well, if you're alright, then let's get out of here so we can eat." Priscilla said as she handed me a gym towel to wipe my sweat off with. "After lunch, we can get started on target practice."

For lunch, we sat on a creaky wooden bench in Ealdwic's local park to eat the brown bag lunches I had made myself. Ealdwic Park was a lonely island in the sea of busy metropolitan London, and even in the bright light of the summer afternoon, it still retained a haunting sort of melancholy. As the last bite of my turkey and pickle sandwich went down my gullet, I turned my head to ask Priscilla a question in order to keep away the creeping gloominess. "Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure, fire away." Priscilla said as she pulled open her bag of potato chips with the crackling sound of plastic tearing apart, and the air was filled with the comfortable sound of her chewing and crunching.

"Ever since I started cooking for you these past few days, you've been laying off my arms during training." I said with a bit of mischief in my voice. "Why is that? Is it because you don't want to have to go back to eating Hot Pockets and takeout?"

I smirked inwardly as Priscilla froze, a Lay's barbecue-flavored potato chip halfway to her still-open mouth. A second later, she had recovered her wits, and she answered a bit too quickly for her response to be considered trustworthy. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right…" I said dryly as Priscilla continued eating, not meeting my eyes as she did so.

* * *

"Fire at the sound of the timer…"

Even while wearing protective earmuffs and earplugs made of a magically-grown sponge that sealed the wearer's ears shut when decibel levels got too high, I could hear the timer's loud beep perfectly. Grabbing hold of my pistol with my right hand, I drew it from its shoulder holster beneath my armpit. As my Beretta 92FS Compact cleared its holster, I took up the isosceles stance with a speed honed by long hours spent practicing _just_ my draw.

Making sure that the sights of my gun were lined up with the silhouette target I was shooting at, I switched off the safety and moved my trigger finger into position. With one pull, the gun went off, firing a 9x19mm Parabellum cartridge towards the target's torso, hitting it near the center of the target printed there.

Carefully letting the trigger move forward and reset itself for another shot, I then pulled the trigger again before swinging around to face my next target. Two gunshots then rang out, and they fired so closely together, they might have been mistaken for just one. Moving over to the last target, I executed a Mozambique Drill, a close-quarters shooting technique that involved firing two shots to the chest, and if necessary, as in this case, following through with a headshot. All three of my shots ended up near the center of their respective targets.

Coming to a halt, I looked around for any remaining targets, and after confirming that I hadn't missed any, I carefully engaged the manual safety of my Beretta and holstered it. Turning around, I then looked at Priscilla, curious as to how I did. "Amazing work, Chase! That was textbook."

I felt myself going red at the praise as I reached up to scratch the back of my head. "Thanks…"

I was surprised to find out that I'd be learning how to shoot a gun in order to supplement my magical training, and even more surprised to learn that I was actually _good_ at it. After taking a crash course in tactical first aid and the gun laws of both the US and the UK, I learned the basics of using firearms and caring for them, as well as the four cardinal rules of gun safety: always treat a gun as if it were loaded, keep the safety on and your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot, never point a gun at anything or anyone you don't intend to harm, and think twice about what's near your target before you pull the trigger, just in case you miss.

From there, we started going into actual physical firearms training. I remember how my arms began to ache after practicing my draw in slow motion for minutes at a time so that Priscilla could correct my small mistakes and also so that I could develop muscle memory. Once Priscilla had deemed my draw "acceptable," she gave me a selection of training guns chambered for .22 Long Rifle rimfire cartridges with which to learn the basics of aiming and actually hitting the target.

I ended up going with a Beretta 87 Target, and the low recoil of the training gun's caliber helped me to avoid developing the bad habit of flinching in anticipation of the recoil. After I had gotten the hang of it, Priscilla then switched me to the Beretta 92FS Compact, the compact civilian version of the Beretta M9 handgun used by the US military, due to its similar controls to the 87 Target. With my new weapon of choice, I began refining my basic skills under Priscilla's supervision, and I also started learning the more advanced techniques, like shooting while on the move and carrying a concealed weapon.

Shooting could almost be considered fun for me, even when Priscilla decided to throw me a few curveballs by slipping in dummy rounds into the magazines I was using, forcing me to use the 'tap rack bang' drill I had learned on the first day in order to fix the malfunction and get back to shooting. However, stripping my pistol down to its individual parts in order to be cleaned and put back together again was considerably less fun. However, the patience and motor control that I had developed over years of having to cook for myself came in handy, and eventually, I was able to disassemble and reassemble my pistol in under a minute with my eyes blindfolded.

In addition to training with my handgun, I also learned how to take away an attacker's gun during close quarters combat training, and once I had gotten the technique down, my speed surprised both me and Priscilla. While most people were capable of disarming faster than the person holding the pistol could react, I was on a whole other level. As long as I was within arm's reach, I could take the gun away from an aggressor before they even realized it was gone.

My Beretta pistol wasn't the only gun I trained with, however. I also learned how to use the M4A1 assault rifle, a smaller version of the M16 assault rifle used by the US military. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get the same level of familiarity with it as I had with my Beretta due to time constraints, but nevertheless, I became a pretty good shot with it.

Once we were finished with the M4A1, I began learning the more obscure techniques used by the various SWAT teams all around the world, such as moving around corners without getting shot or having my weapon snatched away from me, passing through a doorway without exposing myself too much, and fighting in low light conditions while having to juggle a tactical flashlight in my other hand. I also learned how to wield a combat knife and hurl grenades of all kinds: frag, stun, smoke, as well as magical ones specifically enchanted for different purposes.

Of course, I didn't neglect the magical side of my training, either. Since Priscilla didn't have as much of an affinity for Elementalism magic like I had, that part of my training was left to Brigadier Lethe. After the first few instances of incurring his wrath, I reached a point where I stopped caring about the pressure he put on me and started pushing myself so that Major Hardass wouldn't have to. Fireballs exploded as I threw them at the chained-up rakshasa, and lightning bolts leapt from target to target, frying them to a crisp as they went.

The rest of my training seemed to pass by in a blur, and before I knew it, I was gearing up for my final exam. It would consist of various tactical scenarios in both light and dark conditions, with both my Beretta and magic available to me to use in conjunction. Time to see if my training had payed off.

* * *

"Clear the first area! Go, go, go!" Priscilla's voice said, loud and clear over the training course's speakers, and drawing my pistol, I began moving through the last leg of my final exam, which took place in another part of the Crucible. Switching my safety off as I caught sight of the first target, I realized that it was a little old lady "civilian" target that I wasn't supposed to shoot, and I made sure to keep my finger off the trigger as I stepped past it. However, the next target that popped up was holding a gun on me, and I responded by shooting the gunman in the face, knocking the silhouette down to the floor.

Another trio of baddies popped out like jack-in-the-boxes, and one went down after another in rapid succession. Dodging past the silhouette of the man walking his dog, I then punched forward towards the silhouette of a looming rakshasa, sending a blue fireball flying towards it. As the magical projectile exploded and knocked the target down, I heard Priscilla's voice over the loudspeakers again. "Area cleared! Move into the building!"

As I stepped through the doorway and past the wall that constituted the front of the "building," I immediately took notice of my surroundings. Two gunmen were on either side of me, but the third hostile in front of me was holding a man in a business suit hostage. It took me a split second to weigh my options, and almost in the same instant, I reacted. Ending the life of the hostage taker with a single well-placed shot to the head, I then switched targets, and within seconds, the other two hostiles were "dead."

"Up the stairs!" Priscilla barked, and as I leapt to obey the order, I was ambushed by a silhouette with its knife raised in an icepick grip above its head. Without even considering my Ka-Bar knife, I triggered my magic with the mental image of me getting shot in the head, my left fist burst into blue flame as I began pumping anima into it. I hardly noticed the harsh clang of my skin and bone meeting metal as I punched the target. Priscilla had taught me a little bit of Reinforcement over the last few days, and while my enhanced strength was nowhere near hers, it was still enough to make the target fold back to where it came from. "Area cleared! Jump down!"

"Last area! Move! Move!" Priscilla urged as my feet landed gracefully onto the floor. Judging by the weight of my gun, I still had six bullets left in my Beretta's thirteen-round magazine, which was just enough for me to finish off the remaining hostile targets if I aimed carefully. The hostiles began dropping like dominoes, one after the other, and as I crossed the finish line, Priscilla was there waiting for me. "Okay, now _that_ was nice! Run like a true professional! Wouldn't you agree, sir?"

I jerked in shock as I realized that Brigadier Lethe had been standing there the whole time. After quickly engaging my weapon's manual safety and holstering it, I stood up straight and gave him a salute. Judging by the twitch at the corner of the grizzled veteran's mouth, I'd say he was kind of amused. "Eh, I've seen worse. He's still got a few rough edges, though. In any case, you've passed the test. You can now call yourself a true soldier of the Templars. I'm sure Sonnac will be pleased to hear about this."

My face couldn't help but break into a smile at the rare compliment from Saint George. "Thank you, sir."

I then turned my head to address Priscilla, who was also a combat medic in addition to a qualified firearms instructor. "Hey, do you mind if you check my hand? It hurts like hell from that one punch I threw coming up the stairs…"

* * *

_6/10/15 Edit: So as my older readers have probably noticed, I've changed Chase's FN Five-seveN to be a Beretta 92FS Compact. Doesn't really change anything plot-wise, but Chase will now have an easier time finding ammo for his weapon and keeping it concealed._


	8. The Hollow Earth

The morning after my final exam, I was making breakfast in the kitchen of Priscilla's two-bedroom flat. While it wasn't the fanciest of places, it was still pretty cozy, and I rather liked it, even if the fridge had been filled with nothing but empty takeout containers and microwaveable meals when I had first arrived. While I had addressed that little issue soon enough, I still didn't have much to work with in terms of ingredients and cooking utensils, but I made the best of it, and Priscilla seemed to like my food.

As the toast popped out of the toaster, I immediately snatched the slices out and put them onto our plates. Then turning my attention back to the scrambled eggs sizzling in the frying pan atop the stove, I deemed the food ready to be taken off the stove and put onto our plates. As I looked up at the living room from doing so, I saw Priscilla sitting on the couch, watching the morning news as she sipped at her coffee. Apparently, some island off the New England coast had just gone up and disappeared off the face of the earth, like the American version of Atlantis, and we continued listening to the news as we ate our breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast.

I was almost done with washing the dishes when Priscilla's phone rang. The phone call finished by the time I put the last dish away in the cupboard, and Priscilla beckoned me over. "Sonnac wants to see both of us at Temple Hall. You ready to go?"

* * *

A few minutes later, we stood outside the doors to Mr. Sonnac's office, and Priscilla rapped her knuckles against the wood. After a moment or two, we heard Mr. Sonnac's muffled voice from the other side of the doors. "Come in, come in!"

As Priscilla and I stepped inside his office, Mr. Sonnac was sitting at his desk, and we sat down in the plush red armchairs. "Good morning to the both of you. I've called you two here today to discuss your upcoming excursion to the colonies. I'm afraid it's business, not pleasure."

Priscilla and I glanced at each other, and we made eye contact as Mr. Sonnac continued. "Recently, a small island community on the New England coast dropped off the map."

"You mean Solomon Island? It's been on the news for a little while now." I asked, and Mr. Sonnac nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Mercer, and you can disregard the tiresome government coverups — there are dark forces at play."

Mr. Sonnac then rose from his seat, and he began pacing back and forth between us and his mahogany desk. "Solomon Island is a rock with infamy. In the past, it was trafficked by the Illuminati, before they joined the rush to New York. You should be aware that we have… _history_ with the Illuminati. Acrimonious history."

Illuminati confirmed! Sorry about that. I just couldn't help myself. Anyway, the Illuminati — the _real _Illuminati — are the Templars' main rival in the Secret World. They're the bad boys and girls of the Secret World: invisible puppet masters and corporate manipulators with fingers in every pie. Industry, military, government, mass media, you name it. While the Templars may be the lions of the Secret World, that position is tenuous with the Illuminati around.

Of course, there's also the Dragon. Based in Korea, little concrete information exists regarding the Dragon, but evidence suggests that they like using the butterfly effect to influence insignificant events like the fall of the Tower of Babel, the rise of the Mongol hordes, the assassination of Julius Caesar, and the French Revolution in order to guide the world into "harmony." Along with the Templars and the Illuminati, they made up the big three cabals of the Secret World.

"Of course, under the flag of truce, we have spat and made up, and now, we are the closest of enemies. All smiles above the table, and drawn knives beneath it." Mr. Sonnac said, and that reminded me of the Council of Venice, the Secret World's very own United Nations.

Originally established in order to keep the Secret World invisible to the Muggles, the Council of Venice holds enough military and political power to ensure that the Big Three and the other supernatural factions with Council representation abide by the rules they've laid down — at least on paper. However, thanks to political deadlock, all they're capable of doing is (barely) preventing all-out war.

"The Illuminati are reckless and cannot be relied upon to clean up their own messes." Mr. Sonnac continued as he walked up and down the section of red carpet in front of his desk, his black leather shoes gleaming in the light coming from the crackling fireplace. "We must find the root of whatever doom has come to Solomon Island."

"Understood, sir." Priscilla said, nodding. "But why did you call in Chase for this briefing as well?"

"I feel as if Mr. Mercer could benefit from witnessing your example out in the field, Miss Ross." Mr. Sonnac said calmly, and Priscilla started at his words. She was quick to reign herself in, though, but her anger was still palpable. Her mouth was set in an almost-grimace as her amber eyes burned (metaphorical) holes into Mr. Sonnac, and I feared that if she didn't tone down her Reinforcement, she'd end up breaking the armrests of her chair with how tightly she was gripping them.

"So you're just letting a fifteen-year-old boy tag along with me into a war zone? I've only had two weeks to train him! I may be a thaumaturge, sir, but I'm not a miracle worker! If you send him to Solomon Island along with me, his blood will be on _your_ hands!"

"I believe Mr. Mercer has demonstrated that he is more than capable of defending himself, if needed." Mr. Sonnac replied calmly, though with an icy swordlike edge to his voice. "As you very well know, Miss Ross, we need every able-bodied man and woman out there on the front lines. Your thoughts, Mr. Mercer?"

I took a deep breath through my nostrils to steady myself before answering, and I stared at my open palms for a moment before looking up at Priscilla and Mr. Sonnac. "I know you're worried about me, Priscilla, but I can't just sit back and watch as everyone else risks their lives out there fighting — not when I can finally do something about it. You've taught me the way, and now it's time for me to show that I have the will. But…"

I inhaled deeply through my nostrils again, and I dropped my head, unable to muster the strength to look them in the eyes. "If anything happens to me… Promise me that you'll take care of Mom…"

"If something _does _happen, Mr. Mercer, rest assured that we will look after your mother." Mr. Sonnac reassured me as I felt Priscilla place a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You have my word."

"Thank you." I said simply as Mr. Sonnac sat back down behind his desk.

"Now that the matter's been settled, let me stress that this is _not_ a rescue operation." Mr. Sonnac said. "Should there be survivors, you cannot announce that you've been chosen to deliver anyone from evil. Joan of Arc did, and look where that got her."

"I highly doubt that the people of Solomon Island will burn us at the stake for saving them, sir." I said dryly.

"Our goal is the salvation of _all_ mankind, Mr. Mercer, not on a case-by-case basis." Mr. Sonnac said. "I understand that may stick in your throat, but halos are fading all over town, now that there is so much more at stake. Leave as soon as you can. Your travel arrangements have already been made at the Ealdwic Underground. I'll be in touch."

"Yes, sir." Priscilla and I both answered at the same time as we rose from our seats. As we stepped foot outside of Mr. Sonnac's office, Priscilla shut the doors, and the resulting sound of the wood slamming together sounded ominously like a final farewell.

* * *

In my room back at Priscilla's flat, I sat at a desk, the parts of my Beretta 92FS Compact set out before me, all freshly cleaned and oiled. With a few quick clicks and well-practiced hand movements, my handgun was fully assembled. Checking to see if it was loaded out of habit, I then loaded a thirteen-round magazine into the pistol's grip before holstering it. As I threw my jacket over my shoulder holster, it felt as if the firearm I was carrying was far heavier than it actually was.

My backpack was already packed with the necessary supplies, so to try and distract myself, I put in my earbuds and began playing some music on my iPhone. Music had always been soothing to me, but today, its effects were less potent due to the oppressively grim atmosphere in the apartment. Putting my backpack on, I then walked into the living room, where Priscilla sat on the couch, the duffel bag lying on the coffee table unzipped to reveal her Benelli M4 Super 90 semiautomatic shotgun. "You ready to go, Chase?"

I nodded as Priscilla zipped her duffel bag shut, and together, we walked down the streets of Ealdwic. Luckily, Priscilla and I had covered concealed carry during training, so my compact Beretta wasn't noticeable unless I took off my jacket. "So… How exactly are we getting to Solomon Island? We don't have any plane tickets with us…"

"You'll see." Priscilla answered with a smile as we stopped for a moment in front of a brick building. As we entered the building, we could see people manning rickety stalls selling all sorts of junk, and some of items on sale were magical, if the hum of power coming from them was any indication. There was no time to go shopping, however, and Priscilla led me past the vendors to a flight of stairs indicated by a red arrow spray-painted along with the word "Agartha."

Walking down the stairs, I then saw lush green vines that looked like they belonged in the Amazon covering the right hand wall, and beams of bright light were peeking out from the gaps between the tendrils, as if the sun was hiding behind a curtain of green. As we walked towards the light, I saw that it was coming from a hole surrounded by the green vines. Glancing at Priscilla coming up from behind me, I saw her nod towards what I assumed to be some kind of magic portal. "This is how we'll be getting around. Just head on through. I'll be right behind you."

"Well then… Down the rabbit hole, I go…" I said. After a brief moment of hesitation, I stuck a foot through the portal, and my shoe seemed to disappear into the light, as bright as it was. Closing my eyes, I then thrust my head into the portal and into the unknown.

As the rest of my body passed through the portal, the first thing I noticed was that it was suddenly very warm. As I hesitantly opened my eyes, I gazed in awe at my surroundings. Everything was bathed in light the color of honey, and it turned out that I was now standing atop a giant tree branch, one out of the many connecting the trees towering above the pale golden fog below. I then looked over my shoulder to see the portal. The portal looked like a pool of water reflecting the interior of the building I had just come from on the other side, and it was rimmed by twisted wooden branches. A second later, the image rippled as Priscilla walked through the portal. "Hey there. Welcome to Agartha, the Hollow Earth."

Priscilla then beckoned me to follow her to where an old man was standing, flanked by two clockwork giants about four times taller than he was. The man was dressed in a black peaked cap with a matching two-piece suit. He stroked the storm-cloud-gray mustache on his lip as we approached him, and he tipped his hat to Priscilla. "Good afternoon, Miss Ross."

"Good afternoon, Stationmaster." Priscilla said as she gestured to me at her side. "Chase, this is the Stationmaster in charge of things around here, and sir, this is Chase Mercer. He's the newest Bee to have joined the Templars."

"Bee?" I asked.

"By Bee, Mr. Mercer, we mean one who has awakened their magical powers by coming into contact with one of the Bees. Only people like you and Miss Ross, who have been touched by the Buzzing, can enter this place. So what do you think of the old place, young sir?"

"It's amazing…" I said as I gazed around once more in awe, unzipping my jacket slightly as I did so. "Though it's a bit hot in here."

"You'll get used to the balmy temperature soon enough. The Bees prefer it. Their honey is quite remarkable, though the aftertaste is a little like machine oil. Anyway, I do hope you're not here for the local service. It's running somewhat tardy. By my watch, it's…" There was a pause as the Stationmaster drew a golden pocket watch from the pocket (where else?) of his jacket and clicked the cover open. After a moment, he closed the pocket watch and tucked it away, making a disapproving clicking sound with his mouth. "One hundred years overdue at quarter past the hour, but judging from the cut of you, you two are more world travelers. Well, you've come to the right place."

The Stationmaster then swept his arm all around Agartha. "This underground realm, like the great British rail system, is the very model of efficiency. Agartha's thoroughfares sprout from the tree of life and connect back to the surface. Distance and time bend in here. In fact, through here, you can cross the globe in just a brief walk."

"Sounds great, but… is it safe?" I asked dubiously, and the Stationmaster nodded his head.

"Of course it's perfectly safe, though no one's entirely sure how it works. Quite bedeviled the science boffins, but I'm assured they have their top men on it." The Stationmaster said.

One of the clockwork giants behind the Stationmaster then stepped forward with a clanking footstep that sent a tremor through the branch we were standing on. The robot then extended its arm, forming a fist above my head. I half-expected an anvil to drop on me any moment. "Ah, I believe that this Custodian wishes to give you something. Hold out your hands, and mind your fingers."

I nervously held out my hands and cupped them together as the Custodian opened its gargantuan fingers. Something shimmered in the air as it fell through it, and it landed gently into my awaiting palms. It appeared to be some kind of bauble. Spherical in shape, with one half made of what looked like brass, the other made of glass to reveal an interior glowing with turquoise light. "Thanks, but… what is it?"

"An Agartha Conduit. Fascinating device, isn't it?" The Stationmaster said as he too looked down at the orb pulsing in my hands like a tiny heart. "Consider it your anchor to the Hollow Earth. It can return you here in a flash — proverbially _and_ quite literally!"

I looked to see that Priscilla had brought out another Agartha Conduit just like mine, and the Stationmaster straightened up and pointed down the length of the branch to another portal off in the distance. "Well then. Onward to the New England coast!"

"Thank you, sir." I said as Priscilla set off, waving goodbye to the Stationmaster and the Custodians as she did so. Picking up the pace in order to catch up to her, I then turned around and began jogging backwards so that I could also wave goodbye. I turned around just in time to see Priscilla disappear through the portal, and I took a moment to take a good look at the image in the portal.

The other side of the portal appeared to located inside some kind of old wooden structure, judging by the moss growing on the timbers at the portal's sides and the big, jagged hole on the far end. Closing my eyes once more, I then took a deep breath through my nostrils before stepping forward into the unknown.

* * *

_Hello, dear readers! It's me, N-Rogue, with the first author's note of this fic. So for this story, as well as the original version, I decided not to make those touched by the Buzzing immortal. I know, I know, it's a big part of the storyline. However, I feel as if making my characters nice and squishy and very much at risk of dying horribly in the face of a threat much bigger than even an immortal being will make the story more interesting. Call it artistic license, if you will. My older readers might also notice that I've changed Priscilla's Mossberg 500 for a Benelli M4. Doesn't really change much in the story, but I thought, "Hey, I'm having a fresh start here, so why not?" Also, I may be incorporating a few Nasuverse rules (think Fate/stay night Magecraft) into my story, as I feel that the Secret World's own rules for how magic works are a bit insubstantial compared to the Nasuverse's. Again, call it artistic license, if you will. There's also a bit of fun with words in this chapter. The definition of "thaumaturge" is, according to the New Oxford American Dictionary, "a worker of wonders and performer of miracles." In other words, Priscilla _is _a miracle worker in one sense, but not in another. Isn't wordplay fun?_

_— N-Rogue_


	9. For a Fistful of Zombies

As I stepped out of the portal to Agartha and onto the rotting timbers on the other side, I could hear the wood creak beneath my feet. A few seconds later, I landed lightly on my feet next to Priscilla, and turning on my flashlight, I glanced over my shoulder to see that we had emerged from the wrecked bow of a Viking longship. A carved wooden dragon's head stared down at me as I noticed that somehow, the ship managed to crash its stern into the side of a hill. The poor skipper must've been laughed at by his drinking buddies in Valhalla upon being forced to tell the yarn about how _that_ happened. However, Priscilla and I had better things to do than to ponder this archaeological mystery, and we began making our way through the dark forest around us.

As we ventured deeper into the woods, strangled screams began to reach my ears, and I willed my stomach to stop churning as my clammy hands drew my Beretta from its shoulder holster hidden beneath my jacket. The weight of Death in my hands was almost comforting as we stepped past the trees, and in the distance, I could see a campfire flickering in the early morning darkness, and it illuminated the open flaps of a tent situated near the road.

The sounds of fire crackling and water boiling and bubbling grew louder and louder as Priscilla and I drew closer, and we could now see a man poking at the burning coals beneath his pot with a charred stick. His face was tanned and wrinkled from time spent out in the sun, and it was covered with a full, dark gray beard. The rest of his body was clad in full cowboy getup: hat, jacket, spurred boots, and all. Resting against the log the cowboy sat on was a lever-action Winchester rifle that looked like it was old enough to have actually helped win the West.

Priscilla signaled for me to stay back behind the cover of the nearby tree trunk as she stepped forward, unarmed, but the cowboy looked unsurprised to see her as he glanced upwards. "Morning. You and your friend hiding behind that tree over there hungry?"

Priscilla hesitated a moment before wordlessly beckoning me over, and holstering my weapon, I jogged over to join them. As we sat cross-legged on the ground, the cowboy smiled at us as he reached for the spoon inside his hanging pot. "Don't worry, kids. You haven't gone back in time. I just happen to be the last of the cowboys."

The cowboy then gestured to the contents of his pot: baked beans, cooked to dark orange perfection amidst the brown sauce gurgling in the pot. It smelled good, and I heard my stomach rumble. The breakfast Priscilla and I had in her London flat seemed ages ago. Bowls and spoons were passed out to us, and as the cowboy ladled out the beans, Priscilla spoke. "My name's Priscilla Ross, and this is Chase Mercer. What's your name?"

"Name's Boone — Jack Boone. I'm a… troubleshooter." The cowboy answered as he dumped a load of baked beans into my bowl. We then ate in silence, and the baked beans tasted just as good as they looked and smelled. The sauce was sweet and tangy, and the beans settled my stomach, though I suspected I was in for gas later on.

Soon, I was three-quarters of the way down, and Priscilla's amber eyes stared at the ever-diminishing contents of my bowl. It had always baffled Mom how I could eat so quickly without choking, and she would always joke about how I should be in the military with that kind of speed. Then again, I _am _part of the Templars' crusade against the darkness now, so I guess that makes me a soldier, in a sense. "So… What're you doing out here? Are you a member of one of the societies?"

Boone shook his head. "Nah, I come from the South… the _real _old South. My partner Wolf and I ride for a higher authority. When you need to know us, you'll know us. Say, how old are you?"

"Fifteen." I answered, and Boone simply nodded.

"Well, it sounds like you got a whole lot left to learn about the Secret World, kid. And when you're all learned up, then you gotta understand what you learned. Kinda like peeling the layers off an onion. Probably be as much weepin' involved too, won't lie to you."

I nodded in silence as Boone glanced at me from his food. "I don't mean to talk down to you, though. You and me and her — we're the same. We're just more experienced, is all. And experience don't count for much these days. We've been stretched out thin as gauze, and we need all the cool heads and steady hands we can get. Thought I had a measure of the absolute darkness in this world. The darkness waiting its turn, patient as all hell, to come through. Turns out I was wrong. So, guess we both got some learning to do."

"Looks like it." I said as I scooped up another mouthful of beans into my mouth and started chewing. "They say you learn something new every day, and for me, that saying hasn't been more true since the day I joined up with the Templars."

Boone grunted. "It's a big storm that can reach all the way from New England to the old one. Storm of the century. Gotta say it's an impressive sight, the army of the Templars on the march. So's a herd of buffalo, and you don't want to find yourself standing in front of one of those, or be riding with them when they go over a cliff, neither."

I notice Priscilla bristle up slightly at Boone's words, and he spared a glance before continuing on as before. "It's good work you do, and proud, but that can make for a blinkered combination. Can get you all tangled up in trying to prove you're prouder and more good than the next guy."

"Hey, we're not—" Priscilla began, the wood of her carved spoon indignantly clattering against the wood of her bowl of baked beans, but Boone cut her off before she could escalate things.

"Think your bosses would have sent you and the kid special delivery if it didn't kick dirt on the Illuminati's shoes?" Boone asked, and Priscilla hesitated for a moment. However, that was all Boone needed to end the would-be argument before it could begin. "Well, I ain't here to pass no judgement. Find the measure of yourself, and if it should match up with the company you keep, well then, I tip my hat to you. Society is what keeps us apart from the dark. That said, don't get saddle rash from riding the high horse, okay?"

Priscilla remained silent as I nodded slowly, and Boone then took a moment to rearrange the coals with his stick again. "Sure, you can be divided in purpose, but… we've gotta stand united against the darkness. This ain't my first rodeo. I know we're gonna need all the unity we can get. Don't mean to say you've stepped into hell, but… When the wind blows west, you can just about smell the brimstone."

"So have you managed to figure out what's going on around here?" I asked, bringing another spoonful of baked beans to my mouth, and Boone shook his head as I chewed and swallowed.

"All I know is that death and fog came from the sea, or someone brought it back with 'em. If I was a gambling man, I'd put money on that someone still being around." Boone answered as he jerked his head in the direction of what I presumed to be the ocean.

"Are there any survivors still on the island?" Priscilla asked, and I felt a little better when Boone nodded.

"There's a bunch of 'em holed up in Kingsmouth town." Boone said as he pointed towards the road — Solomon Road, according to the green sign nearby. "Follow that main road and the sound of gunfire, and you'll come to the sheriff's office. Be careful, though — this forest crawls. Gets my fingers itching for two matters. One…"

Boone then snatched up his gun from its resting place against the log, and before we could react, he had raised the rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger, causing me and Priscilla to flinch at the sudden loud noise. If I hadn't been wearing my special earplugs, I would've gone deaf at such close proximity to the gunshot. "…The zombies. The other, figuring out a way to keep 'em down. It ain't right, the way the dead walk the earth. They deserve their six feet, same as everyone else."

Boone worked the lever of his rifle to chamber another round, he added, "I'm sworn to keeping guard here, and you two got places to be, but nothing's stopping you from culling the herd as you go. Hell, figure out what makes them tick, and how to make that ticking stop, and I'll buy you two drinks at the apocalypse. So, go on — saddle up. The end of the world waits for no man."

Priscilla and I both nodded as we set our bowls down and stood up to leave, and as I followed Priscilla out of his camp, I heard Boone call out to me. "Hey, mind holding up a sec?"

"What's up?" I asked as I stopped and turned around to face Boone. He was looking at me with a serious expression in his eyes, which were as dark as tanned leather.

"Kid… Whatever your reasons for being here, you find out what those people died for, and you bring a reckoning. Got that?"

"Got it." I said, and Boone nodded as he gestured for me to go.

* * *

The road to Kingsmouth town was littered with abandoned cars and fistfuls of meandering zombies. The walking dead looked to be about the same as any other zombie on TV (i.e. ashen skin, rotting flesh, raggedy clothes, bloody orifices, blah blah blah) but that didn't make them any less unnerving to see in person.

Bringing out her Benelli shotgun, Priscilla brought the gun up to her shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The first zombie went down as the buckshot fired from Priscilla's gun struck its center of mass, and now we had attracted the attention of the other walkers. My training then kicked in as I spotted a zombie charging towards us, and with two quick shots to the torso, the second walker was down. Then another undead growl reached my ears, and the icy snake of fear that had coiled itself around my heart suddenly squeezed tight.

I looked to see Priscilla spin around to meet the source of the sound, which was barely a few feet away from her. Priscilla kept her cool, however, and she responded with a high kick to the walker's face that literally _decapitated _the zombie and sent its head flying towards the windshield of a nearby abandoned car.

I winced in sympathy for the poor zed's head as the car's alarm went off, and all the other zeds started running towards the loud beeping cry of the sedan, like One Direction fangirls that had just spotted the objects of their affection through the tinted windows of their car. Taking advantage of their distraction, I conjured up a blue fireball with a snap of my fingers, and I hurled the fiery projectile at the undead Directioners. As it neared the zombies, the fireball exploded like a grenade, setting alight the zeds within its blast radius. As the undead got up, the blue fire burned away at their decaying flesh and torn clothing, but that didn't seem to bother them as they moaned and groaned like usual, as if they had always been on fire. "So what have we learned, Chase?"

"Well, Miss Ross, we learned that the undead are attracted to loud noises and can be set on fire." I said, doing my best impression of a young first grader. "In other words, they're just like every other zombie out there. They probably also lack pain receptors, judging by how they're still walking around while their faces are being melted off. They also like eating dead bodies, judging by how those two are tearing into that guy over there. So, can zombies turn other things into zombies? Like, reanimate corpses to join the horde or something?"

Priscilla shook her head as she looked where I was looking and raised the shotgun to her shoulder again, staring down the iron sights at the zombies. "No, not usually. Doesn't make their teeth any less dangerous, though. These things bite _hard_, and don't let go easy. I'll take the one on the left, you take the right."

I nodded as I brought my gun up to fire, and our ammunition found nice new homes in whatever excuse the undead had for brain matter. We then raced over to the corpse and inspect it for any sign of zombie infection. The skin and flesh of the face had been stripped off the yellowed bone by the zombie's teeth, rendering the person unrecognizable, and there were several laceration wounds from the walkers' nails. The meat on the arms had also been eaten by the zombies as if it were a chicken drumstick, so I didn't feel very _humerus _about the situation. If I hadn't seen worse during my tactical first aid training, I probably would've thrown up.

A loud roar then interrupted our inspection, and we jerked our heads to see a seven-foot-tall linebacker of a zombie charge towards us from the nearby woods, as if someone had just hiked the ball and we were the opposing team. As I froze in fear like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, Priscilla reacted instantly and pushed me out of the way hard with her enhanced strength before scrambling away in the opposite direction.

I grunted in pain as my back skidded across the ground, and I cursed myself as I reached to clear my Beretta from its holster. As I heard the bang of Priscilla's shotgun, I pushed myself up and readied a spell with my free hand. As I felt the flow of anima course through my arm, the electricity produced by my body began to appear and crackle upon my skin. I then thrust my hand towards the football zombie, and it howled in pain as the lightning coursed through its body.

I found myself breathing hard from the amount of anima I had put into the attack, but I forced myself to get back up onto my feet as the football zombie began lumbering towards me. Unfortunately, the football zombie was faster in getting to me than I was at getting up, and just as one of its meaty arms rose into the air to smash me into a paste, a welcome shotgun blast rang through the air. Warm black blood splattered onto me as a gaping hole appeared in the middle of the football zombie's forehead, and as the monster fell forward, I just barely avoided getting crushed by its corpse.

The football zombie's corpse thudded heavily as it hit the ground, and as the blood, sweat, and gray matter trickled down my skin and clothes, all I could think about was just how _close _I had been to getting killed, and the thought sent shivers up my spine. Being reminded of just how easily you can get snuffed out is unpleasant for anyone, especially a teen who's got their whole life ahead of them. My heart felt as if it had been replaced with a trembling chunk of ice, and I could only stare at the ground in front of me as I felt Priscilla hug me tightly from behind.

* * *

_Good work, both of you. The information regarding the reanimated dead is useful, though not particularly surprising. _

_Jack Boone — now there's a familiar name. He pops up in reports everywhere. The man travels far and wide, and always seems to be onsite before our agents. His factional allegiances are unknown, though he does not appear to be associated with either the Illuminati or the Dragon. _

_It would pay to keep an eye on him. _

_R. Sonnac_


	10. Elm Street Blues

_Don't try to be a hero. Just get all the ammo you can find and get the hell back here. Lives depend on it!  
— Deputy Andy_

* * *

We found the hastily-scribbled note clutched inside the cold, dead hand of a dead and mutilated cop lying on the road, next to the open door of a pickup truck, whose cargo bed was loaded with two plastic boxes filled with ammunition. It was obvious that the zombies had gotten to him when he left his supply-laden vehicle, presumably because it had stopped working. My guess was confirmed when Priscilla lifted the truck's hood to check the engine, and as she slammed it shut, I asked, "So what do we do with all these bullets?"

"We take 'em to the sheriff's office. They'll have more use for this than we do." Priscilla said, and I nodded as we clambered up into the cargo bed to begin unloading the truck. I took point with Priscilla's shotgun while she carried the munitions, and I was sweating bullets (pun intended) as we made our way down the road. However, we managed not to draw the ire of any nearby zombies, and we soon found ourselves at the perimeter of the Kingsmouth survivors' compound.

The makeshift barricade was made mostly of chain-link fencing, with cars, dumpsters, portable toilets, and pretty much anything the people of Kingsmouth could get their desperate hands on. Townspeople armed with hunting rifles and shotguns manned the perimeter, and I could feel their wariness as Priscilla and I stepped forward. In response, Priscilla raised the ammo boxes up so they could see, and one of the sentries motioned towards the gate leading into the compound.

"This for us?" A young man in a police uniform asked. He was boyishly handsome, I guess, and at Priscilla's nod, he slung his rifle over his back and took the munitions cases from her much like a bellhop at a hotel. As he struggled with the ammo boxes' weight much more than Priscilla had, he introduced himself to us. "I'm Deputy Andrew Gardener, but everyone around here just calls me Deputy Andy."

"Nice to meet you, Deputy." Priscilla said, nodding politely towards him. "I'm Priscilla, and this is Chase. We, uh… found all this in the back of a truck. We think it was driven by one of your fellow officers — we got a note written by you right here."

Priscilla swapped the note for one of the ammo boxes Deputy Andy was holding, and tears started welling up in the corners of the deputy's eyes. "I… I see… Yeah, he… he was a good guy. Wicked swell… You, uh… You guys go on ahead and see Helen — uh, Sheriff Bannerman in the police station. I'll take care of the supplies."

Priscilla and I exchanged glances before nodding, and Deputy Andy stuffed the note into his pocket before taking the box of ammo from Priscilla by its handle and heading off. As I watched the deputy go, I spoke aloud. "I sure hope he's going to be okay…"

"Yeah, me too…" Priscilla agreed sadly, and together, we walked into the police station. Inside were several wounded townsfolk being tended to by a middle-aged man in a white lab coat, who looked like he hadn't been getting enough sleep. The windows had been boarded up and barricaded as a last line of defense against the zombies, and the only desk that wasn't being used to block off a point of entry was occupied by a middle-aged policewoman. "Hello? Are you Sheriff Bannerman?"

"That's me." The policewoman said as she stood up from her seat, looking pretty calm and professional for someone whose police station and town was falling apart all around her. I felt my respect for the woman grow. "And who are you two?"

"I'm Priscilla Ross, and this is Chase Mercer." Priscilla said, gesturing with her hand. "We brought you guys some ammo."

"Yeah, I saw you two come in. First those two fellas, Boone and Wolf, and now you two." The sheriff said as we all shook hands. "Heck if I know where you keep coming from, but anyone who walks through that door alive pretty much gets my amnesty, especially if they bring housewarming gifts. We've been going through bullets like candy at Halloween. Now, if something in your pasts colors you sour to a badge, I'd ask you to call it quits and return. We agreeable?"

Priscilla and I both nodded, and then Priscilla spoke. "So what exactly did Boone and Wolf tell you?"

"They told me they were here to help, and a little about what's really been going on." Sheriff Bannerman said. "Reckon I must be all thumbs when it comes to secret handshakes. What I do know is that this island's cut from a different cloth, a damn weird cloth. Sure as there's a difference between being homely and being plain stupid.

"Take it from me, no one round these parts is a dope, not all the time. Everybody knows, or knows someone who knows. Salem's got nothin' on us. We had an episode with torches and pitchforks only… twenty-five years ago now? But my job, I gotta do it wearin' this police jacket, not a robe and wizard hat."

Sheriff Bannerman then swept her arm around the police station. "Anyways, welcome to the down-home little state of emergency that used to be my jurisdiction. Sure, we tried holding as much of the town as we could at first, more of nostalgia than any civil defense plan, but as you can see…"

"No need to explain." I said. "So any idea on why the zombie apocalypse came knocking on your door?"

Sheriff Bannerman sighed before soldiering on. "I won't tell you Kingsmouth was a slice of heaven in a snow globe, but it was ours, and now it ain't. There was always something running under in this town. Maybe that's what spilled out now. If that's how it works, I couldn't say hand on heart we didn't have it coming. But that fog, and the things in it, they didn't pick and choose when they came in. Most folks didn't stand a chance, and most of the ones that did made it here."

Sheriff Bannerman then cast a glance at the Benelli M4 Super 90 in my hands, and I belated realized that a minor in possession of a deadly weapon might not be the best first impression to give to a cop. "Now, I can see that at least one of you's armed. I won't kick up any fuss about that. Straight truth is, everyone needs to be. Just don't go thinking that means you're deputized or such. Heaven knows if there was ever a time and a place for the right to bear 'em, you're looking at it."

"Any survivors besides the ones here?" I asked, and to my relief, Sheriff Bannerman nodded. "Plus anyone else who might have a clue about what's going on?"

"Well, there's a biker by the name of Sandy Jansen here with us, though he goes by Moose. Came here for soft-shell lobster season, stayed to help us fend off the zeds. Wicked kind of him to do so." Sheriff Bannerman replied. "We've also got a few folks left holding out across the island. Well… there was, last time I could check, and I'm an optimist. Pays to see the donut, not the hole. Red's shack at Tolba Bay, the Innsmouth Academy, the Wabanaki Indian grounds — they should still be safe. Then there's that Roget woman and her crystal ball at Raven's Knock, and Norma Creed's out on the point with a 12-gauge. My money's on Norma."

"Thanks." Priscilla said as we turned to leave. As we stepped outside the building, Priscilla turned towards me. "Alright, here's the plan —"

"Jesus Christ, there's a whole horde of 'em coming our way!" Someone shouted, and the air was filled with gunshots, muzzle flashes, and smoke as the sentries opened fire. Handing Priscilla's shotgun back to her and drawing my Beretta, we ran over to the barricades and climbed onto the roof of a nearby car to see a horde of zombies straight out of the _The Walking Dead_. However, that wasn't the most frightening thing.

Even at a distance, I could tell that the new monster was over twice as tall as us, with blue flesh covered in dark seaweed like clumps of hair and barnacles, as if had just risen out of the darkest depths of the ocean, or Lovecraft's mind, or my mom's last attempt at making soup. The monster stood on legs as thick as Mom's meatloaf, and they were probably just as hard and inedible as well. Above a pair of regular-sized arms, another pair rippled their wrecking ball-sized muscles as giant crustacean claws that looked like they could chop through steel like balsa wood made a menacing snapping sound.

"Focus on the zombies! They're the more immediate threat!" Priscilla barked in a way that reminded me of Brigadier Lethe, and I immediately regained my senses. Trying hard not to focus on the great brute lumbering towards us, I began picking off the slower zeds one by one with my trusty handgun, while Priscilla took down the faster ones with blasts of shot.

As the zombie horde's ranks were thinned out and then finally depleted, Priscilla handed me her shotgun before grasping the top of the chain-link fence in preparation to jump over it. "Alright, I'm going in to take care of that thing. Stay here, and don't interfere."

"Hey, wait!" I called out as Priscilla vaulted over the fence and ran towards the monster. Objectively, I knew that she could probably match the monster blow for blow with her Reinforcement, but that didn't stop me from worrying.

My worries seemed to be unfounded, though, as Priscilla ducked and dodged the monster's heavy blows with ease, returning the favors with powerful punches of her own. However, my anxiety soon came back in full force when Priscilla made a miscalculation. As she blocked a hook from one of the monster's smaller arms, she didn't notice the monster's much larger arm coming towards her on the opposite side until it was too late. She went sailing through the air until she crashed into the concrete.

"Priscilla!" I screamed as I scrambled over the barricades, ignoring the survivors' words of protest. Running towards Priscilla as if my own life depended on it, I hastily dropped to one knee in order to began examining her, and words came pouring out of my mouth uncontrollably. "Please be alright please be alright please be alright…"

I then breathed a sigh of relief and thanked whoever was out there for Reinforcement. Without it, Priscilla probably would've been pulp on the ground instead of unconsciousness. A roar then brought me back into the present, and I froze in place, gulping in fear as I belatedly realized my current situation. Since its first opponent had been defeated, the monster had locked onto a new one: _me_. "This is gonna suck…"

* * *

My heart was pounding in my chest as I ducked beneath another swipe of the monster's crustacean claws, and my knees were shaking as adrenaline coursed through my body. Everything seemed so vivid to me, even now — the sheen of the monster's blue skin, as if it had just come out of the water, the murderous rage on its skeletal face, the jaws of death snapping in anticipation of chopping up a juicy teenager…

_You idiot! How can you hope to succeed where Priscilla failed? You're just a kid with a few barely-learned spells. You're going to DIE!_

The perspiration running down my skin clung to me as I dodged another blow in desperate search of an opening, for I had no wish to die. My flames were alight with blue flame as I tried my best to not get smashed, and spotting an opening, I let loose a steam of hot blue sparks at the monster, and it hissed in pain as it shielded itself with one of its large arms. Okay, good — my elemental magic worked on this thing, and I have just the spell in mind.

Leaping backwards away from the monster's blows with Reinforced legs for that extra boost, I began charging up anima for my next spell. Concentrating entirely on the energy coursing through me like electricity through circuits, blue lightning began to arc from my body, crackling with a menace that rivaled that of the monster's as the air stank of ozone.

The electricity arced off my glowing blue hands to form what looked like a hammer floating above my head, and the monster looked up just in time to get its head crushed and electrocuted simultaneously by my projectile, which dropped from the sky with all the force of a meteorite when I slammed a fist into the palm of my other hand.

The ozone in the air now stank with the stench of burnt flesh as the lumbering seafood special fell backwards, and I found myself breathing heavily as I fell backwards onto my butt. "Holy shit… I think I did it…"

* * *

_For this chapter, I took some inspiration from Space Viking's "Lit Major Shoots Zombies" when it came to writing Deputy Andy's dialogue. Would any of my older readers tell me how I'm doing with this rewrite? Feedback would be bleeping fantastic._

_— N-Rogue_


	11. Draugnet

_It appears we are dealing with bigger problems here than just the reanimated dead. The name "draug" is ringing a lot of bells around here, and I'm told we have plenty of information on these marine creatures on record. On_ ancient_ record._

_We could still use more information, however, particularly about the larger varieties with the lobster claws, and their general ecology._

_On that note — they do have some excellent shellfish in that region, worth looking into if you work up an appetite._

_R. Sonnac_

* * *

"Now the walking dead, I can wrap my head around that. They're dead folk, just walking is all, but those other things?" Deputy Andy said as we stood over the dead body of the giant monster we now knew as a draug warmonger. Its flesh was cooked where my lightning hammer had struck, but I managed to keep control over my stomach despite the stench and steam still rising from its body. "Tall and pale, slimy as maggots…"

"You know these things?" Priscilla asked, and Deputy Andy shrugged. Priscilla had recovered quite quickly from her concussion, and I suspected it was due to her hardening her own skull with the use of Reinforcement. After letting her chew me out from taking on the draug warmonger on my own, she had sent me to go fetch Deputy Andy in order to examine the body of the monster.

Oddly enough, neither Deputy Andy nor the other survivors at the compound didn't see fit to comment on my show of magical power, as if he had seen people conjure up lightning every day while walking the beat. I guess Sheriff Bannerman was right when she said that everyone in town already knew or had a pretty good idea.

"They washed up with the fog." Deputy Andy answered as he pointed out down the street towards the ocean with his free hand. In the light of the early morning, it looked nice enough, but the areas closer to the shoreline were probably teeming with more of the draug. "Th-they they came and dragged the townsfolk out to sea, drowned them. Just like my dad with the kittens. He took 'em out to sea in a garbage bag. Said they were gonna go for a swim. Said they needed the exercise. They never came back. Few years later, neither did my dad. Geez… I still miss those kittens."

I found myself beginning to wonder if Deputy Andy needed some therapy as he continued speaking as if he hadn't said anything wrong. "The townsfolk, they did come back — dragging what looked like eggs. The big ones, they come out of those eggs like something from _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_. They're littered all over Fletcher Bay and guarded and I'm thinking to myself, 'Andy — that's gotta mean something. That's gotta be a clue. Why keep an eye on something if it ain't valuable?' That's police work. That's deduction, plain and simple. So I'm thinking, 'What came first? The maggot or the egg?' Obviously, the egg… right?"

"Right. Good thinking, Andy." Priscilla said with a nod, and Deputy Andy blushed at the praise as he scratched the back of his head. He then took a look around, and I did the same. The coast was clear of zombies for now, but that could change at any moment. Thus, we all had our weapons out — Priscilla had her shotgun, I had my handgun, and Deputy Andy held a bolt-action rifle in his right hand.

"Geez, you never saw anything like this in the cop shows, well maybe on cable. Not the network ones." Deputy Andy remarked. "You wouldn't know it from looking out there, but before that wicked bad fog rolled in, Kingsmouth was a sleepy little burg. Nothing stronger on the streets than a hot cup of coffee and chocolate glazed donuts from Suzie's. 'Course, there was always the occasional DUI or human sacrifice."

I blinked at that. Did he just say 'human sacrifice'? As I pondered this new horrifying detail about Kingsmouth, Deputy Andy went on talking in that way of his, as if nothing was wrong. "But every town has a dark side, right? We sure are getting a heaped helping of darkness now, eh? Walking dead and worse besides taking over our town. Us survivors holed up in here, hoping it's all just a bad dream and we'll wake up to the smell of bacon and maple syrup. And unless someone ups and does something and soon, all we're gonna wake up to is the smell of rotten flesh, and I don't need another thing to remind me of my dad. Sure does bring back the memories, eh?"

"Y-Yeah, totally." I stuttered, still trying to wrap my head around how Deputy Andy could be so casual about all the horrible things going on in his town. "So, uh… You said something about the draug at Fletcher Bay, right? We should go check it out, see where the draug are coming from."

Priscilla made a sound of assent as she stood up from her squat. "Alright then. Chase and I will head to the beach."

"You sure you don't want me to come along with you as backup?" Deputy Andy asked, and Priscilla shook her head.

"No, we'll be fine. Thanks for asking, though." Priscilla said. Then turning towards me, she said, "Come on, Chase, let's go."

* * *

Observing the draug made me feel like one of those nature show hosts you see creeping up on all sorts of creatures on Animal Planet: sneaky, curious, and way too close to the wildlife for their own safety. Like Deputy Andy said, the draug's eggs were on the shore, pulsing with life like giant hearts as they grew bigger and bigger. They looked like giant hearts, too, except with spikes and giant black spires jutting out from their tops.

After a while, the pods would then open up like monstrous flowers in full bloom, allowing the slimy draug that had been incubating inside to stumble out and either join the march towards the survivors' compound or stand guard near the other brood pods. Like the warmonger we had faced earlier, the draug's blue faces were twisted into monstrous expressions that perfectly captured their desire to strip the flesh from our bones. Some had large sharp-looking spikes for arms, while others had club-like stumps that looked very capable of bashing our heads. However, what really caught my attention was the (presumably) female draug standing out in the water.

Unlike the male draug, the females looked pretty normal, save for their discolored skin and the skeletal faces. Behind them, several tentacles were sprouting out of their backs, and they got antsier and antsier as zombies like the ones from before waded out into the waters of the bay to meet them. Once the zombies got close enough, the tentacles of the draug "broodwitches" would then whip up into the air and rudely shove themselves into places you'd probably better off not knowing about. After the broodwitches finished pumping them full of love juice to the point that their stomachs bloated to third trimester pregnant levels, the zombies would then head back to shore and collapse onto their stomachs to begin the transformation into another brood pod.

"So what have we learned, Chase?" Priscilla asked as we brought our heads back down the abandoned car we were using as cover.

"The zombified locals get drawn out to sea, drown, rise, get knocked up by tentacle rape, and then plant themselves onto the shore to become pods and give birth to more draug." I answered as I checked to see if a round had been loaded into my Beretta's chamber. "It's a very romantic experience."

Priscilla held back her laughter with a snort, and we both turned our attention back to the draug. "So what's the plan now?"

"We're gonna sabotage the draug by taking out the ones guarding the beach at a distance with our guns before closing in on the pods." Priscilla answered as she brought the butt of her shotgun up to her shoulder and stared down the length of the Benelli's barrel. "Ready?"

I nodded as I gripped my pistol and brought it up to fire. Together, we began taking potshots at the ground, taking as many of them down as we could before they could pinpoint our position. Despite how quickly we worked, we didn't manage to take down all the guards, and they soon realized where we were hiding. As they charged towards our position, I snapped my fingers to conjure up a blue fireball, and I hurled it at our attackers before ducking back down behind cover. A second later, I heard an explosion like that of a grenade's, and I looked to see that the first wave of draug had fallen. However, there was still more to come.

Another magic grenade went sailing over our heads, and that one left a couple of burning stragglers writhing on the sand. However, one blast of buckshot from the muzzle of Priscilla's shotgun was all it took to end their pain. "Come on, now's our chance!"

Priscilla took point as we ran out from behind the car, and as we charged onto the sand, I hurled another fireball towards the closest pod. As the fireball made contact with the draug egg, it exploded, turning the brood pod into smithereens, filling the air with steam and the stench of boiling blood and burning flesh. Nearby, Priscilla blew out the bloated stomach of an incubator zombie before swerving the muzzle of her shotgun around to remove the head of a draug charging towards her.

I then felt something wrap around my ankle as I neared too close to the waterline, and I found myself being dragged towards the water by one of the draug broodwitches. I cursed as I felt the seat of my pants get dragged through the sand roughly, and taking aim at the offending draug's head, I squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened. Of all the times for my gun to jam on me!

I swore some more as I racked the slide of my Beretta to clear the jam and took aim again, for I did not want this to turn into a scene from some tentacle _hentai _anime. As I aimed my gun at the draug's head, I realized that a better spot was much closer, and so I switched targets. With a bang, the broodwitch's tentacle was severed from the main body, and I scrambled to my feet as the draug screamed in pain, only to be silenced by the bang of Priscilla's shotgun.

The split seconds of silence between the bangs of Priscilla's shotgun were filled by the sound of my handgun going off like a firecracker, and soon, the draug broodwitches were floating face-first in the water, the waves dispersing the fog of dark blood that contaminated the bay. "Think we managed to get them all?"

A loud growl answered my question before Priscilla could, and I could only sigh as another sea monster erupted from the depths of the bay in a pillar of white foam, water streaming down from its body like miniature waterfalls. "Of _course_ I had to jinx myself… Of course…"

The new arrival was an odd-looking thing, to be certain. The tentacles of its gray, octopus-like head wriggled as the seawater cascaded past the barnacles and seaweed that clung to the head, and the cephalopod's head was supported by no more than a trunk with four tentacles for legs. Flaps on the side of the new monster's head covered something that gave off an orange glow from inside the monster, and its eyes glowed the same shade. If the monster had been, say, knee height and not hellbent on murdering the fuck out of me and Priscilla, I might've thought it to be kind of cute.

Priscilla and I then brought our guns up to fire, but the numerous barnacles on the draug's body seemed to act as some sort of natural body armor as it charged us with all the ferocity of a three-legged corgi. Seriously — it could barely waddle towards us with its tentacle legs, much less intimidate us with pure thundering speed, though the _aww _factor was kind of dampened by the murderous rage in its glowing orange eyes.

Snapping my fingers for yet another fireball, a small one this time, I pitched it towards the draug, hitting it right between the eyes. It squawked in pain as it stumbled slightly in its rush to get to shore, but quickly recovered as it swiped at me with the tentacles near its beaklike mouth. Luckily, I managed to dodge the draug's attack, and I responded with a stream of blue sparks from my free hand at its eyes.

However, using up so much anima was beginning to take its toll, and so as I cut off the stream of sparks, Priscilla leapt in to go toe-to-toe with the draug, despite what happened last time. The water sloshed as Priscilla bobbed and weaved past the draug's attacks easily, despite the restricted mobility that came with being ankle-deep in the water. Then by reinforcing her fist to its utmost, Priscilla brought her free hand forward in a left hook, shattering the draug's barnacle armor at the point of impact like a wrecking ball against glass.

Then pressing the muzzle of her shotgun against the hole in the draug's armor, Priscilla pulled the trigger to blow the draug's brains out. With a final cry, the draug joined its fallen brethren still floating in the water, buckshot riddling its exposed flesh. As Priscilla and I stood over the dead draug's body, I then remarked, "I dunno about you, Priscilla, but I'm in the mood for calamari. Think they have some over at the sheriff's office?"

* * *

_I just received word from R&amp;D that the data you two have obtained is giving us fresh insight into draug behavior. They appear to have a more complex ecology than we first thought. _

_You've given our research teams a lot to think about — hopefully, in time, it will give us an edge over these creatures. Alas, not in time to save Kingsmouth, but you cannot win every skirmish. This is, after all, going to be a very long war._

_R. Sonnac_


	12. Zen and the Art of Weapon Maintenance

It was a tired duo that made its way back to the sheriff's office, and to be honest, all I wanted was a nice hot shower to wash away the gunk that I had accumulated within the last few hours. Unfortunately, the survivors of Kingsmouth had no such luxuries to spare, so instead of washing myself, I settled for ensuring that my Beretta was positively gleaming.

Priscilla was attending to the wounded inside the sheriff's office with Sheriff Bannerman's husband, the local doctor, so I was alone as I walked over to the section of the compound devoted to repairing the survivors' equipment with a case full of cleaning supplies in hand. It wasn't much to look at: just a bunch of scattered workbenches and folding tables littered with tools of all kinds, though there was a motorcycle parked at the center of the area. Being a teenage boy, I couldn't help but try and get a closer look at it.

It was a jet black chopper, the kind that you'd expect to find roaring down the highway to Hell while being ridden by a rugged, badass Hell's Angel decked out in several layers of biker leather and attitude. The sound of an unfamiliar voice nearby then shook me out of my thoughts. It definitely belonged to an older man somewhere in his thirties and forties, and it was gruff, yet kind. "That's damn good coffee, Andy. You sure know how to make a man happy."

"Why thanks, Sandy. All I did was fill her with water and change the filter, but I appreciate it." Deputy Andy said as I looked to see him standing with a muscular man dressed in a black leather jacket and blue motorcycle jeans. The new guy had somewhat long brown hair and an awesome goatee that was on par with Chuck Norris's, and in his hand was a white styrofoam cup, its contents letting off steam that rose lazily up into the air.

"The offer still stands, Andy." The man, Sandy, said as he sipped his coffee. "When this is all over, you're welcome to hop on the back of my bike and go explore the open road together."

"Ah, geez, thanks." Deputy Andy said as he scratched the back of his head with the hand not holding his coffee "I'm sure it'd be fun, but I couldn't leave this town or Sheriff Helen. It'd just feel wrong."

"Well I respect that about you." Sandy said. "You're a good man, and any woman would be lucky to have you."

Deputy Andy blushed a bright shade of pink at that, and he scratched the back of his head again. It seemed to be a nervous tic of his. "Well, uh, there hasn't been any… But that doesn't mean I, uh, I… Ah, geez, I'm sorry."

"Relax, my friend. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Sandy said as he reached out with his free hand and patted the deputy on the shoulder. All the while, I thought to myself how amazing it was how life could just go on, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. The idea of two dudes serenely taking time out of their day to have a cup of coffee, even while in the middle of a supernatural disaster, seemed too dissonant with the world around them to be true, but oddly enough, the thought gave me a small bit of comfort — hell, maybe a tiny little piece of hope.

Sandy then caught sight of me from out of the corner of his eye, and both he and Deputy Andy turned to look towards me with curiosity. "Well hey, look who's back. Cuppa Joe?"

"No thank you. I don't really like coffee." I said as I patted the Beretta beneath my left armpit and lifted my case full of cleaning supplies up for them to see. "I'm just here to clean my weapon."

"Of course." Deputy Andy said, gesturing towards me with his styrofoam cup. "Proper sidearm maintenance is real important when it comes to making sure your gun works right, Helen always said. Well, guess I better leave you two alone so you can get back to work."

"Alright. Thanks for the coffee, Andy." Sandy said as Deputy Andy nodded as turned to leave with his own cup of coffee in hand. As the deputy left, the biker then turned around to face me, extending his free hand. "Don't believe we've met before. Name's Sandy Jansen, but most people just call me Moose. What's your name?"

"Chase Mercer." I answered as I shook Sandy-now-Moose's hand, which had a grip strong enough to rival a reinforced Priscilla's. After we had made our introductions, I set up shop at the workbench next to Moose's and began field-stripping my pistol. The work came as easily to me as cooking, and it was almost as comforting as I went through the motions of cleaning and lubricating the individual parts with gun oil. "So what's a guy like you doing all the way out here."

"I could ask you the same thing." Moose remarked as he tinkered with the odds and ends scattered around his workspace. There was a mortar and pestle filled with some kind of powder, along with a few pipes and wires. "But anyway, back in my old life, I always wondered what was around the corner I didn't take, down the road I didn't go. That's how I ended up here, up to my elbows in machine grease, rigging bombs."

Moose chuckled as he saw my face go pale and my hands screech to a halt in the middle of scrubbing out the inside of my Beretta's barrel with a brush coated in gun oil. Also, I might've backed away from him _just_ a bit. "Relax, my friend. I've got plenty of experience blowing shit up. I've got a handle on death and the instruments thereof, and no desire to see the infinite darkness claim any of us quite yet. These mechanical servants of the reaper will stay still and silent till I'm good and ready to push the button."

"Glad to hear it." I said somewhat nervously as I refocused all of my attention on cleaning my gun. Perhaps if I didn't think about what was being made right next to me, they wouldn't accidentally go off and ruin what was shaping up to be a lousy day. Using the brush to push a patch of flannel into the barrel, I then pulled it out to see that it was still oily. I would repeat this process until the patch emerged, free of any oily residue that might interfere with shooting.

"Traveling the big country's taught me everything from bull riding to bonsai, enough to cause a man to lose his appetite for destruction, but circumstances require us to yield to the greater good — even when that greater good isn't all that pretty." Moose remarked as he began pouring some explosive mixture into a short length of steel water pipe, which had one end covered by a brass cap. "Road here said I'd be pitching in with soft-shell lobster season. Instead, I found nightmare country, maybe the very rotten heartland of it, but I'm philosophizing."

"So you came here for the lobsters, and stayed to help the survivors of a zombie apocalypse. Ouch." I remarked as I squeezed out a few drops of gun oil around the key parts of my Beretta's slide: the ambidextrous thumb safety, the firing pin, etc. "Must've been quite a shock, to see the zeds moaning and groaning up and down the streets."

Moose simply grunted noncommittally as his big hands and fingers moved with surprising grace around his WMDs. "Andy and Helen — Deputy Gardener and Sheriff Bannerman — they're the reason I stayed behind when I could've just gone. I know the secret roads, I know how to ride out of here, through places the fog can't touch, but folks like them, and like the rest of the survivors here in Kingsmouth, deserve better."

"They do." I agreed, suddenly feeling awkward with the knowledge that I could up and leave at any time through the portal back to Agartha. It just didn't feel right, that I had a way out of here while these people didn't. The fact of even having a home to go back to made it seem as though my part to play in this situation was less significant. "Everyone who's been through something like this does."

Moose seemed to sense my growing turmoil. "I'm not putting you on the spot here, friend. I know you got other places to be, other wars to fight, which is why it's doubly important I stay behind. There's an honesty and an innocence to these people, and they genuinely know and care about one another. Of course, I can't claim total selflessness. My heart's gone soft for Andy, and even if he'll never feel the same way for me, as long as this heart's beating, I won't let any harm come to him."

"I see…" I said simply as my thoughts drifted while lubricating the spring. It's not like I have anything against the LGBT community. In fact, one of the few people I actually talked to back in middle school was a bisexual transgender male named Nick, née Nicole. He's an amazing artist, and we first struck up a conversation back in eighth grade when I noticed one of his drawings, and from there, I learned that he liked manga, boys that looked more like girls, and manga with boys that looked more like girls. While we hadn't been all that close, it was enough to eliminate any prejudices I might've inherited from my mom, who was raised in a Christian household. I digress, however. In a conspiratorial voice, I asked Moose, "So… you have any idea what's going on around here?"

Moose nodded as he finished pouring the explosive mixture into the pipe and put on another brass cap on the open end. "Living on the razor's edge of society your eyes open up to the possibility that there's something more to this world, something most people are too blind or too preoccupied to notice, even if it's right under their noses, and has been all along.

"I only noticed small things at first. Roads that appeared and disappeared. Folks who travelled by way of gates drawn in chalk on brick walls. Houses bigger on the inside than the outside. Magic trinkets sold at yard sales. Street shamans capable of taking out the cancer inside you. But it wasn't until I found myself face to face with werewolves in New Orleans that I realized there's a secret war going on. After that, I couldn't escape it. I saw signs and sigils everywhere. I've met recruiters for the Templars, Illuminati and the Dragon. They all seem to think I'd make a useful operative."

"So… Did you take any of them up on their offers?" I asked hesitantly as I wiped my pistol's frame clean with the brush. "Me, I got snatched up by the Templars almost as soon as the fire started coming out of my fingertips."

Moose shook his head. "I tell them I take no sides, and that I'd be little use to them. But the 'united against darkness' thing, I can get behind. We're all in this together… and we all got work to do, which brings us right back around to blowing up dead guys."

"Alright, so now that we've got the subject of the secret world out into the open, what do you think of this fog?" I asked as I spared a glance from my cleaning to look up at Fletcher Bay. It had been hard to notice when I first arrived with Priscilla, but now that the light of the sun shone over Kingsmouth, I could see it plain as day (pun intended): smoky with a blue tinge to it, and a chill that made me feel little difference between me and the walking dead shambling outside the barricades.

"Traveling the open country, you learn to be prepared for whatever the land throws your way. Faced with the elements, you gain a new appreciation and respect for nature, and you come to accept how small and insignificant you truly are. Nature is neither good, or evil." Moose said with a nonchalant shrug. "Just is."

Moose's voice then turned into a low growl as he took a trip down memory lane. "But there was nothing natural about the storm that rolled in on Solomon Island, or the fog that followed. There was evil in that fog, whispering to everyone in its path. The townsfolk followed the fog back into the sea, as if possessed. It was Deputy Gardener – Andy – that saved my life. He grabbed hold of me when the fog got into my head, tied a rope around us both, kept walkin' the other way. It was like the whispers didn't get to him. When I finally got my wits back, the fog had rolled back out again to where it is now. We shook hands, and we started lookin' for survivors and building this fortress. That man saved my life, selflessly, and I love him for it. I'd go to the ends of the world and back for Andy… I don't think I'll ever win him over though."

"Don't think like that." I spoke up. "Deputy Andy seems like an open-minded guy. It wouldn't hurt to try, and besides, even if he does turn you down, he doesn't strike me as the type of guy who'd think any less of you for it. So go ahead and go for it!"

"Heh. Thanks for the encouragement, Chase." Moose said with a grin, which I acknowledged with a nod of my head as I refocused on my weapon.

We continued working in companionable silence. It was nice, having someone other than Priscilla who knew just what forces were at play here. As I finished cleaning my pistol, a thought popped up in my mind, one that neither my mom nor Priscilla would've approved of, and it elaborated itself as I put my handgun back together with a few quick snaps. "Say, think you can teach me how to make bombs? I think my arsenal needs more to it than just 9mm pistol cartridges and magic fireballs."

"Sure." Moose said easily as he put the finishing touches on his pipe bomb, much to my surprise. That had been a lot easier than I had expected. "If my hunch is right — and they usually are — you're gonna need it, where you're going. Come here and I'll show you."

So began The Art of BOOM 101 with Professor Jansen, where I learned recipes for explosives straight out of _The Anarchist's Cookbook _and _Terrorism for Dummies_. Propane, diesel, ball bearings, and oddly enough, kitty litter and orange juice all went into the manufacturing of the mechanical servants of Death. Mines, Molotov cocktails, empty glass bottles filled with propane or shrapnel, pipe bombs, IEDs, homemade napalm, you name it. If Mom were to have seen me right now, she would've fainted at the idea of her little boy turning into a terrorist-in-training or into a pile of dead meat from a bomb prematurely detonating.

"So you really think these will do the trick?" I asked nervously as I looked down at our finished products. Sure, I was pretty good with my hands, but a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon was a lot different than a pipe bomb filled with shrapnel and black powder.

"Relax. You did a fine job with these instruments of death." Moose said reassuringly as he patted me on the back with hand callused from long hours spent working on all kinds of things. "Y'know, back before I found the open road, I made my living as a financial analyst on Wall Street."

"Really?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. I hadn't taken Moose to be an economics kind of guy. Then again, I really shouldn't be so surprised, considering that I've just heard more wisdom come out of this man's mouth within the last hour than I've ever heard from my own in almost sixteen years of life. "Sounds interesting."

Moose shrugged. "Oh, it was, but it just wasn't the life for me. However, it did teach me some important things about numbers and statistics. With enough trial, and plenty of error, I've been able to gauge the effects of my weapons of mass destruction. Now, from what I can tell, no one shoe fits all, and depending on the tools, different screws turn at different speeds. I've noticed that the draug have a tolerance for fire and heat, which makes sense, given their aquatic origins, but like us and the walking dead, they're easily brought down by shrapnel."

"I see…" I remarked as I brought my fist up against my palm and bowed towards him, a small smile crawling up the corners of my mouth for the first time in what seemed like ages. "Thank you for instructing me in the art of blowing stuff up, Moose-sensei."

"It was an honor to have taught you the ways of kaboom, young grasshopper." Moose said, taking my joke into stride as he copied my pose. Snatching up four of the pipe bombs with built-in, button-activated detonators that allowed them to function as improvised grenades, I put them inside the really big inside pockets of my jacket so that I could have them on hand later.

"Chase!" A familiar voice said, and I turned around to see Priscilla coming up towards us, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She smelled like blood and medicine, though her face had her trademark Colgate smile lighting it up. I envied her for being able to stay positive during times like these. "I just got back from helping Dr. Bannerman with the last patient in the sheriff's office. Ready to go check out the leads in town?"

"You bet." I said with a nod. As Priscilla turned around to leave, I raised a hand towards Moose in farewell, a gesture which he returned as I hurried to follow Priscilla out of the compound.

"Good luck out there, my young friend. You're going to need it…"

* * *

_My God. What was I thinking (or drinking or smoking or whatever) when I decided to give bombs to innocent little Chase? Am I turning him into a badass? A Gary Stu? A menace to society? A danger to himself? Please help! If you want to see what Chase's new pipe bombs look like, just look at Homura's from Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Go on the Internet Movie Firearms Database._

_The Nick mentioned in this story is actually heavily based off someone I know in real life. Amazing artist, though he could stand to learn how to draw other things besides pretty people of indeterminable gender. Then again, I'm no Leonardo da Vinci myself. Anyway, shout-out to Nick._

_Also, I think Moose is just awesome. I mean, a gay, kindhearted, badass biker with a background in finance who manages to find time to quote Robert Frost and Herodotus when not blowing stuff up? And that's not even getting into the stuff we _didn't _see him do in his backstory. This guy is the trope Crazy Awesome incarnate if it ever existed. Also, thanks to Space Viking-senpai for noticing me and posting the one and only review of this story so far. Ciao-ciao._


	13. The Raven

The Raven's Knock was a small occult shop in Kingsmouth, located in a courtyard off the west side of Lovecraft Lane. (Seriously? Who the hell was in charge of naming these streets?) It was owned and operated by one Madame Roget, and services included the sale of magical items, fortune telling, and prostitution, if some of the older townsfolk back at the survivors' compound were to be believed. However, I decided to reserve judgment until Priscilla and I actually met the woman. It pays to keep an open mind about things when you live in the secret world, and you never know if the supposed fraud living on the outskirts of town might actually be able to melt your face off with a single, well-placed fire spell.

Strangely enough, the lights were on through the window of the door, and when Priscilla tried to open the door, she found that it was unlocked. She and I shared a confused look before stepping inside the shop. Listening closely to my surroundings, I could hear the hum of something magical in the air. It seemed to be contained within the confines of the shop's interior, judging by the fact that I couldn't hear it from outside, so I guessed that it was a type of ward: a mystical barrier designed to protect its caster within its boundaries. This particular ward wasn't particularly subtle — a sign that we were dealing with a third-rate mage at best.

"You feel it too, right?" Priscilla asked in a low voice, and I nodded. Each mage perceives magical feedback through one of their five senses. I sensed it through sound, while Priscilla felt magic as a sensation in her hands — an itch for hostile intent, a sudden chill for the presence of ice magic, hairs rising due to electricity, you know, that kind of thing. "Can you guess what the ward's supposed to be for?"

"Well…" I began as I snapped my fingers to create a blue flame. "Seeing as how I can do magic just fine here, the ward's most likely function is to warn whoever cast it of someone coming. It probably also keeps out any of the monsters that wander nearby, judging by how the owner is confident enough to keep the door unlocked and the lights on."

Priscilla nodded approvingly as she beckoned for me to follow her to the carpeted flight of stairs leading down to where I assumed the actual shop would be. The steps creaked noisily as we made our way downstairs, despite our attempts to not make any sound. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

No one answered Priscilla from within the dimness at the foot of the stairs, but as we reached the bottom, we could finally see the true interior of Raven's Knock. The lack of electric lighting and the smell of incense and scented candles hanging in the air provided a sober atmosphere to the place, but even with the dimness, we could see the occult paraphernalia all around the room.

The corner to our right had a small cluster of tall drums from Africa, and to our left, behind a counter with a cash register that kinda ruined the atmosphere, was a shelf lined with bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors that I assumed were potions. Bookshelves lined the walls on the other side of the room, and they were stocked with thick grimoires the size of phonebooks. Come to think of it, that's probably what they were — telephone directories whose covers had been replaced with worn leather ones.

However, in the farthest corner, there was a woman sitting at a round wooden table. Her eyes remained closed as her hands floated over a crystal ball, like fallen leaves in a weak autumn breeze. She wore a leather bodice that showed off her pale shoulders, and red hair was tied in a bun atop her head. As Priscilla and I sat down in the two wooden chairs opposite her, the woman began to speak in an affected accent so obvious, it made the actor in me cringe. Was this supposed to be an attempt at comedy? If it was, I wasn't laughing, and neither was Priscilla. "I sense… I sense an alien presence. The fog obscures a terrible truth concealed behind a veil of…"

The woman then opened her eyes, and she fell silent beneath the withering glares of me and Priscilla. She cleared her throat awkwardly before speaking in a much more natural voice. "Sorry. Old habits. Hey, just so you know, I don't do readings anymore. I've been outside. You don't need second sight to foretell our future. We're all doomed."

"Way to keep our spirits up in these dark times." I deadpanned. "Anyway, my name's Chase, and this is Priscilla. I'm guessing you're Madame Roget?"

The woman nodded, and I continued my questioning. "We're here to see if you knew anything about the fog that rolled into town."

Madame Roget pursed her lips as she tented her fingers in thought, her eyes shifting back and forth between me, Priscilla, and her hands. "I suppose I got lucky when the fog came. I was, um… tied up in here, heh. I had this uncontrollable urge to walk into the sea, let the waters swallow me, but I was unable to due to, you know, eh, plush handcuffs."

I had an odd feeling that this conversation would turn out to be very awkward for me to hear, and Madame Roget failed to disappoint when it came to taking the discussion down some uncomfortable roads. "The mayor wasn't as fortunate, but I suppose I can thank his fetishes for saving my life. In the commotion, he ran out of here. In his boxers. With the key to the handcuffs. Which probably means he's walking around out there somewhere. In his boxers. With the keys to the handcuffs. I contemplated biting my own hands off, but then Andy found me. Buck naked. Me, not him, heh."

Was it just me, or did living in Kingsmouth give you a penchant for conjuring up disturbing imagery in other people's minds? First Deputy Andy, now Madame Roget… "He turned red as a tomato, sweet kid. He he…"

"Why aren't you with the others at the sheriff's office?" Priscilla asked, ignoring what Madame Roget had just said. "It's a lot safer there than it is in here."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Madame Roget said, shaking her head with a snort. "I don't want to join the others at the station. I've had enough of the judgmental looks and the whispering. I'll fend for myself, thanks very much. I've been rationing my groceries upstairs, and for some reason, the zombies seem to be avoiding my shop…"

Priscilla and I shared a glance, and I knew that we had both come to the same conclusion: if she didn't know about the ward protecting her shop, then Madame Roget couldn't possibly be a mage. However, that didn't mean she didn't have powers of her own… "It's strange, but to be honest, it's the dreams that really get to me — not reality."

"Dreams? What dreams?" Priscilla asked with a frown, and after pursing her lips again, Madame Roget elaborated.

"They're like… they're like a really annoying song that gets stuck in your head, repeating over and over and over again."

"I know the feeling." I remarked with a nod. "So… What are the dreams about? Do you remember anything specific about them that might help us understand them better?"

Madame Roget inhaled through her nostrils before continuing. "The dreams are always about ravens. Thousands of ravens. Flapping wings, black feathers, dead eyes… Beaks and talons tearing and clawing and screeching. Wings of death and pestilence. A black, timeless malice covering Kingsmouth like a funeral shroud. You get the idea. I don't know what any of it means, but it's doing a number on my beauty sleep, I can tell you that."

"I see…" Priscilla said, and as she retreated from the conversation to mull the new information over, pursing her lips as she did so, Madame Roget pulled out a deck of cards, shuffling them idly as she spoke.

"You two feel up for a tarot card reading? I need something to keep the cabin fever at bay. You won't even have to pay my usual fee. It's not like I'm gonna need the cash anytime soon."

I shrugged as I leaned forward. Priscilla was too caught up in her thoughts about what the dreams might mean to pay much mind to Madame Roget. "Well, since you offered… Eh, sure, why not? Any sort of insight would be useful right now. So how do we do this?"

"Here. Shuffle these so we can get started." Madame Roget said as she passed me the deck of cards, and I took my time in shuffling them to make sure they were nice and mixed. I then handed the cards back to Madame Roget, and she placed the top three cards of the deck in a row between us. Placing her fingers on the card to my left, she said, "This card represents the past — the events that led up to where you are right now."

She turned the card over, and the upside-down image of a laughing jester and his dog dangerously close to the edge of a cliff stared up at me. "The reversed Fool. In this position, it represents naivety, foolishness, recklessness, risk-taking."

"Heh. Sounds about right…" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else as I leaned back in my chair. The more I thought about it, the more fitting it sounded. Naivety and foolishness pretty much summed up how I ended up on Solomon Island in the first place: I thought I could handle this mission, but now, I wasn't so sure anymore… Luckily, Madame Roget was there to break me out of my train of thought.

"You can dwell on the past later, but right now, we've still got two more cards to go through. This card here represents the present — the right here, right now." Madame Roget said. She then flipped the card over to reveal an upside-down star with a face. "Ah, the reversed Star. Lack of faith, despair, discouragement, all that good stuff. Seems you've been pretty down in the dumps lately, huh?"

I remained silent as Madame Roget went on. "Can't blame you, y'know, what with all the zombies running amok. It's enough to lower anyone's spirits. Now for the future…"

The last card showed a picture of an old man holding up a lantern to illuminate the dark place he was in. "The Hermit represents soul searching, introspection, loneliness, and inner guidance. Looks like you'll be contemplating your navel in the future."

"I see…" I said, more to myself than to Madame Roget. Before I could start sinking too deep into my thoughts, the sounds of Priscilla's chair scraping across the wooden floor alerted me.

"Thank you for your time, ma'am. We'll be going now." Priscilla said as she stood up from her seat and gestured for me to do the same.

Stepping outside into the light of day outside the shop, I took a breath as I stared up at the foggy sky. Ravens were perched atop the nearby rooftops, cawing and preening their feathers and thinking about whatever birds thought about. Looking back down to earth, I asked Priscilla, "So what's your impression of Madame Roget?"

"While she might have some kind of clairvoyance, I highly doubt she knows anything about what's been going on. To be honest, I'm more interested in those dreams she keeps having."

"I see..." I remarked as I raised my head to look up at the foggy sky again. A frown then marred my face as I noticed that something was off. "Hey Priscilla, is it just me, or are those ravens staring at us a bit too closely?"

Priscilla looked to see that the ravens perched atop the nearby rooftops were now boring holes into us with their beady, dead eyes. I began to listen more closely to my surroundings to see if I could detect any magic, and at first, there was nothing but silence. Then, I could hear the sound of ravens coming from, well… the ravens. Thousands of them cawing, shrieking, flapping their wings… Thousands of them ripping and tearing through carrion like wet, fleshy tissue paper…

The sudden fluttering of wings snapped me out of my thoughts, and I saw that the ravens had begun flying away. Luckily for us, however, their jet black plumage was easy to see amidst the blue fog hanging over Kingsmouth. "Quick! After them!"

Priscilla and I begun to run, in constant fear of losing the ravens as we followed the ravens all throughout Kingsmouth town. In hindsight, it was a miracle that we didn't attract the attention of the draug or the local zed population. Finally, the unkindness of ravens led us to what appeared to be a local park, and they perched on the edges of the central fountain as Priscilla and I clambered over the chainlink fence in our way.

The fountain itself was nothing special, just a pool of water surrounded by raised stone, but the way the ravens had positioned themselves on the edge only reinforced just how unnatural they were. They sat in a perfect circle around the fountain, with even spaces between them. Slumped against the fountain was a dead body, ashen gray and practically a skeleton, and as Priscilla and I knelt down to examine the body, I could see that there were large slash marks across his chest, as if he had been attacked with a large, rusty cleaver. I then glanced up from the corpse, and then did a double take as I nudged Priscilla so that she could see what I could see.

On the other side of the fountain was a figure in a tattered brown robe with raven feathers lining the bottom, and the darkness of its beaked hood hid its face from view, though I suspected a more sinister reason for its obscured visage. Then with a sudden shriek, the revenant leapt off its perch, and a pair of long, rusty cleavers appeared out of nowhere to provide the monster's feathered hands with weapons as it leapt towards us. It looked as if we had found what we were looking for. "Watch yourself, Chase! Revenants can split themselves up into ravens to avoid damage!"

As Priscilla brought her shotgun up and pulled the trigger, the monster transformed itself back into a flock of ravens in order to avoid the buckshot. While several ravens did fall to Priscilla's shotgun, that didn't seem to hamper the revenant at all, as it had reformed back into its humanoid shape atop the chainlink fence we had just climbed over moment before, no worse for wear. The edges of its twin cleavers created sparks and a menacing sound as they scraped across the metal pipe, and as it leapt upwards into the foggy blue sky, I raised my hands and thrust them forward, shattered pieces of glowing blue glass entering my mind's eye as a gunshot reverberated throughout the farthest corners of my mind.

The revenant shrieked as it was met with two streams of blue sparks hosing it down, and it turned back into an unkindness of ravens to avoid any more damage. As the ravens flew past me, I spun around just in time to see the revenant swing its right-hand cleaver towards me. Strangely enough, my mind only grew clearer and calmer with impending doom swinging towards me like a deadline for a school project, and I thrust my hand forward to blast the revenant with a jet of blue flame.

Just before my head kissed my neck goodbye, the revenant and its weapons turned back into a flock of birds, avoiding heavy damage in exchange for sacrificing a chance at finishing me off, which was what I had been banking on. As I backed away, Priscilla opened fire with her shotgun again, taking out more of the ravens whose feathers still glowed with fire from my last spell. The remaining birds then zeroed in Priscilla like missiles in an attempt to finish her off quickly while she reloaded, but just as the revenant's cleaver was about to strike, Priscilla brought her Benelli up just in time to narrowly avoid getting bisected.

As Priscilla gritted her teeth, Reinforcing her arms to continue holding out against the revenant, I thought briefly about using one of my pipe bombs, but discarded the idea. It wouldn't do for me to lose Priscilla due to friendly fire, so I decided to go with the comparatively safe option of using my Beretta. The revenant shrieked in pain as I emptied as much of my gun's fifteen-round magazine as I could within the small timeframe its distraction had given me, and Priscilla used this opportunity to thrust the butt of her shotgun into the revenant's body, sending it reeling backwards.

"How is it still not dead yet?" I cried out as I raised my left hand, and the lightning crackled as it leapt towards the ravens that comprised the revenant. The crows cried out as they were electrocuted one by one as the lightning hopped from one bird to another, and as the last raven fell dead and steaming onto the ground, I had enough cooked birds to open my own fast food chain. Kingsmouth Fried Corvids! No, wait, KFC's already trademarked…

As I holstered my handgun, my adrenaline rush fading, I found myself breathing hard. My magical stamina was something I still needed to work on, but the time necessary to build it up was a luxury we didn't have. As Priscilla slung her shotgun over her shoulder and came over to check on me, I gazed all around the dead, _crispy _ravens lying on the ground. "Hey, think Madame Roget can predict our future prospects if we decide to get into the fried raven business?"

* * *

_The revenant is an old enemy of ours — a creature that smells death and foretells further misery. We have received similar reports to this in the past. One Miss Rose White had an encounter much like yours. How this creature is tied to the park in Kingsmouth is another thing entirely, and something we should look into in the future._

_If there is a way to use this information to our benefit, we will certainly find it._

_R. Sonnac_


	14. They Never Stop Coming

After taking care of the revenant haunting Madame Roget's dreams, Priscilla and I decided to visit the Creeds' house in Poe Cove, near the mouth of Fletcher Bay. Our search was turning out to be unfruitful, until we took a dirt road off the beaten path to a two-story house, where we caught sight of a zombie creeping up on an unsuspecting victim staring at the huge bonfire in front of the house — an old woman, wearing a knitted top and a pair of faded blue jeans.

Before Priscilla and I could bring our guns up to fire and save the old lady, the would-be victim suddenly turned around, and I saw that she had a sawed-off, pump-action shotgun with synthetic furniture and a pistol grip in her hands.

A split second later, the zombie's head was blown clean off its shoulders, and my mind was like: _Damn, why can't my grandma be this awesome? _Then again, I suppose it is somewhat difficult to be cool when you're taking a dirt nap six feet under. Ah, well — rest in peace, Grandma. Your spirit lives on in your badass secret recipe for meatloaf.

The woman then caught sight of us with her wild eyes, and for a second, I thought she had mistaken us for two of the zombies. Then she lowered her weapon, and my hand dropped back down to my side from reaching for the Beretta in my holster. "Hello there! Don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"Same here." Priscilla answered as we walked up to the woman we assumed to be Norma Creed. "Priscilla — Priscilla Ross, and this is Chase Mercer. So are you Norma Creed?"

"That's right. Raised a family up here, before this dungeon thick fog came took 'em, is my story." Mrs. Creed said, running her free hand hand through her gray hair before glancing down at her dirty clothes, which were unwashed and smeared with zombie blood. "Well now, I'm not much fit for entertaining, but I reckon you ain't much in the mood for hospitality either, am I right?"

"No, ma'am." I answered politely, and Mrs. Creed chuckled.

"Well, you two sure make a nice change of pace from a surly husband and kids more comfortable with kicking a ball around than having a conversation with their ma." Mrs. Creed said as she held out her hand towards us, which Priscilla and I shook. "Helen — er, Sheriff Bannerman, I'd guess you two might know her by — sent you two over to check on me, I reckon. Now, your concern is wicked kind, but I don't need any pityin'. I got my shotgun, I got… what's left of my wits — I'll manage."

I highly doubted that, but then again, I didn't feel like I was much better off than Mrs. Creed seemed to be. Gesturing to the zombie lying on the ground, I asked, "So when did all of this start, Mrs. Creed?"

"The hullabaloo began after the _Lady Margaret _came back…" Mrs. Creed began as her eyes began staring off into the distance. "My husband Larry, the others… we all thought they'd gone missing out there — that the sea took 'em. The day they came back, the whole town could finally breathe again. But then came that fog, like it was following them back to shore…"

Priscilla and I stood there in silence as we watched Mrs. Creed ramble on and on, though I kept a close eye on the fingers rapping against the slide of her shotgun. "Twas right, said they, such birds to slay… that bring the fog and mist."

Mrs. Creed then caught us staring at her, and she shrugged her shoulders as I raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't ask me where I got that from. Probably heard it on _Oprah_."

"Somehow, I doubt that Miss Winfrey had ever hidden copies of _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner _beneath the seats." I remarked. Noticing the look Priscilla and Mrs. Creed were giving me, I elaborated. "I, uh… I memorized part of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem as part of a poetry unit for Honors English back in eighth grade. I was obsessed with C.S. Forester and Patrick O'Brian at the time, so a nautical poem seemed appropriate."

"Huh, never took you for an Age of Sail geek. Video games and anime, yeah, but…" Priscilla remarked, and as I opened my mouth, she cut me off, saying, "You start singing a sea shanty, and I will _punch _you into the bay."

I shut my mouth, having no doubts about her ability to do so, and Priscilla turned her attention back to Mrs. Creed as if she hadn't threaten to launch me into the water via Naru Punch. "So is there anything else you can tell us? Every little bit helps."

Mrs. Creed shook her head. "Never got to ask Larry about what happened those weeks they were gone. Been around gift horses long enough not to look 'em in the mouth. He was back. Thought life would go on the way life goes on… one day at a time."

Norma pointed off into the distance towards the foggy bay. "When the fog lifts enough to see the _Lady Margaret _laid up in the harbor, covered in that red seaweed, I always wonder… if he and our boys, Derrick and Lawrence, would still be here if I had."

"Maybe… or maybe not… Who knows?" I said. We stood there in an awkward silence for a moment before Mrs. Creed decided to speak up as she rested her shotgun against her shoulder and turned to stare at the bonfire flickering and crackling behind her.

As I looked deeper into the flames, I saw that lying amidst the wooden kindling were zombie parts, the rotting flesh and the still-bloody bone charred black. I belatedly realized that the stench of burning flesh hung in the air, and I resisted the urge to throw up, which wasn't as hard as last time. Maybe I was starting to get used to this kind of thing.

"You'd think these wet bits would just fizzle in the bonfire but no, they sparkle like kindling wood. It's heartening." Mrs. Creed said. She then looked down at her dirty clothes again, and shook her head, speaking more to herself than to me and Priscilla. "Ah jeez, what a mess. Good thing I'm not particular. I'm used to getting my hands dirty… fish guts, childbirth, sutures… the dead…"

First, Deputy Andy, then Madam Roget, and now Mrs. Creed? Something was definitely in Kingsmouth's water supply, and I don't mean the draug. "Maybe I was born for this work. Nah, that don't sound right. Nobody's made for this ungodly work."

Mrs. Creed then paused to look at the shotgun in her hand. "Except maybe this old thing. So I kill and I chop and I burn, but there's more of 'em every day, and I feel like I'm pushing a very big stone up a very steep mountain. And it keeps rolling back down. What do you call that? Sisyphean? Or is that when you get a burnin' in your privates?"

"No, it's Sisyphean." I agreed. "In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was punished by the gods on Olympus for his deceitfulness in the way you described."

"And as for the burning in your privates, the word you're looking for is probably syphilitic." Priscilla added helpfully.

Mrs. Creed shrugged as she lowered the shotgun from her shoulder and back down into her hands. From nearby, I began to hear the sound of zombies growling for their next unlucky victim. "My idea of culture is reruns on Cheers… you know… not ancient Greek mythology."

"Eh, that's alright." I said, waving it off and feeling thankful for Rick Riordan and the Camp Half-Blood series. "So how are you holding up over here with that shotgun of yours?"

"While the old gal ain't a proper match for everything that turns up on my doorstep, seems she's too much for most of it. Spreads the bone and dead man's guts all over the place and there's no time to gather it all up before we're right back up in the thick of it." Mrs. Creed said.

Her voice then took on a haunted tone as she stared down at her shotgun, the fingers rapping against the slide more jittery than ever. I was afraid that she would snap and shoot us dead. "And they never stop coming. They never stop coming…"

Mrs. Creed then jerked her head up as she brought her shotgun up to fire, and we scrambled out of the way just in time to avoid getting caught in the buckshot that wasted the zombie sneaking up on us. Despite the fact that she came _this _close to killing me and Priscilla with no warning, I had to hand it to the old lady for being able to handle the 12-gauge's recoil, even without a stock.

As Priscilla and I drew our weapons, we saw that more of the zombies were coming, which had me worried. I mean, even if it were just the running zombies from before, I could've handled it, but zombies dressed in cultist robes that could shoot fireballs of their glowing green hands like I could? That had me a bit worried about our odds…

Luckily for us, however, Mrs. Creed was more than capable of pulling her weight, and I made a mental note to tell Sheriff Bannerman that Mrs. Creed was more than capable of taking care of herself as I watched the old lady dodge the cultists' fireballs like a professional. As Priscilla blasted away at the zombies with Mrs. Creed, she shouted orders to me. "Chase, get the guys in the back!"

"I'm on it!" I cried out as I aimed down the sights of my Beretta. With a squeeze of the trigger, a zombie cultist went down, and I felt a strange sort of relief at this. If it bled, then I could kill it. Unfortunately, I was a bit too slow in stopping another of the remaining two cultists from launching another green fireball, and as it sailed towards me, I triggered my magic with the image of shattered pieces of glowing blue glass flying from the exit wound of the gunshot through my head. Snapping my fingers to create a flame, I then hurled a bigger blue fireball of my own towards the spell.

As the fireballs collided, my fireball absorbed the green flames of the cultists, adding to its own power as it continued on its trajectory towards the cultists, who all went flying as the projectile exploded on impact with the ground next to them.

While the cultists wasted precious seconds getting up, Priscilla and Mrs. Creed chewed through the remaining zombies with their shotguns, and now they turned their weapons onto the cultists. A few shots later, they were all dead, and we were all breathing hard from playing deadly dodgeball with the cultists. "You okay there, Mrs. Creed?"

"I'm fine, dear, thank you. Though I'm afraid those fireball-throwers in the wacky getups are a new one for me." Mrs. Creed said to me as she gestured towards the dead zombies littering her yard, looking like the Saturday morning after a Friday night undead frat party. "Help me get these zombies into the bonfire, would you?"

With Mrs. Creed standing guard with her shotgun, Priscilla and I got to work dragging the bodies of the zombies closer to the bonfire. With a heave-ho, we tossed the zombies into the fire like rag dolls, and we watched as they burned away. However, as we threw the body of one of the fireball-throwing cultists into the bonfire, something interesting happened. The flames suddenly flared up, and we backed away as the flames turned the same shade of blue like mine. It was disturbing, and I didn't really want to think too closely about what that might mean.

"Huh… Interesting…" Priscilla remarked as she gestured for me to continue helping her with the corpses. The flames flared up twice more as we threw the remaining two cultists into the fire, and as Mrs. Creed walked up to us, we all watched the blue flames flicker and tower into the sky.

"I-I think I remember seeing this color of fire out on the beach near Pyramid Point. Think it means something?" Mrs. Creed asked, and Priscilla slowly nodded as she digested the information while reloading her shotgun with more shells. With the way we were going through ammo, it was a miracle that we still had any at all.

"Yeah… Come on, Chase. Let's go check it out."

"Right."

* * *

To be honest, I was not eager to go down to the beach. Don't get me wrong, I love the sun, the sea, and the sand, but just not when the view is obstructed by the two dozen or so zombie cultists hungry for my brain matter. However, that was where the zombies seemed to be coming from, so I had no choice but to suck it up and deal with it.

To be fair, the beach was pretty nice, except for the zombies, of course, with the soft sand a nice-looking shade of yellow and a pleasantly cool and salty sea breeze coming from the bay as the waves lapped against the shore. If I ignored the moaning and groaning of the living dead, I could almost pretend that I was enjoying my summer vacation on the beach, like I should be instead of fighting evil on a zombie-infested island.

Anyway, the zombies seemed to be concentrated towards the other end of the beach, leaving the long stretch of sand in between them and our position relatively unguarded. This made for a fairly easy stroll on the beach, and the few zombies that rose from the ocean and got in our way were summarily dealt with by Priscilla's formidable close quarters combat skills. As we neared the end of Pyramid Point, Priscilla signaled for me to take cover behind some nearby rocks as she did the same, and we watched the zombie cultists from a safe distance as they gathered around a tall bonfire burning the same blue as Mrs. Creed's.

The cultists began uttering guttural noises as they clapped their hands and stomped their feet on the sound, and I doubted they were singing campfire songs. One of the cultists stepped forward with a horribly mangled corpse slung over its shoulder in a fireman's carry, and we watched as it threw the corpse into the blue flames. The blue flames then flared up to new heights as the body struck the burning tinders fueling the bonfire, turning into a pillar of almost white fire, and the chanting, clapping, and stomping stopped as a burning zombie stepped out of the pillar, leaving behind the charred ashes of the bonfire.

Its eyes glowed like miniature suns as an azure inferno danced atop its head, and the wounds of its charred body glowed blue, almost white like molten steel. The sand was set on fire wherever it stepped, and as it raised an open palm towards the foggy sky, more fire burst into life. Listening closely, I could hear the roaring fire coming from the creature, and I could tell that it was on a whole other level than the revenant from before.

I then looked to Priscilla for guidance, and she gave me the signal for us to open fire, while they were distracted. Drawing my Beretta from its shoulder holster, I squeezed the trigger, and the closest cultist fell dead, staining the sand black with its blood. Priscilla let loose with her Benelli, and a few more of the zombies fell dead, while others were wounded by the buckshot. The element of surprise now gone, I covered Priscilla as she ducked behind the rocks to dodge the fireballs and feed more shells into her shotgun from the belt across her chest.

Priscilla's barrier wouldn't hold up for long, however, and so I took things into my own hands by hurling a fireball grenade into the midst of the cultists. As I heard the telltale boom of the magical explosion, I looked to see that I had managed to take out two more while further wounding the others by burning them. Those were soon taken care of by five well-placed shots from Priscilla's Benelli M4, leaving only the fiery creature the zombie cultists had summoned.

"YOU DARE SLAY THE LOYAL FOLLOWERS WHO HAVE SUMMONED ME TO YOUR MORTAL PLANE? THEN YOU SHALL BURN IN THE FIRES OF MY WRATH!" The fiery creature now identified as the leader of the cult roared, and he hurled the blue fireballs floating above his palms at the two of us like a pitcher at the mound.

I scrambled out of the way just in time to avoid getting hit, but nonetheless, I was sent flying into the sand as the large rock I was using as cover blew up into tiny little shards and pieces. I didn't want to imagine about what I might've looked like if one of those fireballs had hit _me_. Fortunately, I still had my Beretta in hand, and the cult leader hissed in pain as the bullets struck his chest.

Okay, so while the cult leader had some serious firepower, he still wasn't totally immune to bullets. However, they didn't seem to faze him much, so while the plan I had in mind wouldn't be quite as effective, it would still give Priscilla the opening she needed to close the distance and the fight. Reloading my Beretta, I began muttering an incantation to help me focus my anima for a special spell from the lightning sub-element of wind.

On a quick note, mnemonics like hand gestures incantations help magi focus their minds in order to effectively channel anima. As long as the words or movements meant something to the caster, it doesn't matter what they say, even if it's just saying "abracadabra" or something while waving a wand Harry Potter style. The greater the meaning of the words to the caster, the better the spell will be, so it's up to the magus's personal tastes to decide the words of the incantation. "Speed of lightning! Roar of thunder! Fighting all who rob or plunder! Underdog!"

Yeah, I'm a fan of the old Saturday morning cartoons. As the bullet was fired from my Beretta, it struck the cult leader right in the chest, but unlike the other rounds, it began electrocuting the cult leader with lightning. Blocking out his screams, I emptied the rest of my Beretta's magazine into him, electrifying each one with my anima, though I was beginning to sweat from the strain on my magic circuits.

On a quick note, magic circuits are kind of like a nervous system located within the soul, and they're what makes a magus a magus. They act as paths that convert anima into magical energy that magi can control and use to perform the miracles of magic.

"Priscilla, now!" I cried out as I saw the electricity begin to die down, and discarding her shotgun, Priscilla rushed forward towards the severely weakened cult leader. Thought he might've been stronger than the revenant, the cult leader couldn't make itself intangible, so this made my limited arsenal of spells much more viable against it.

Priscilla then began pummeling the cult leader with her Reinforced strength, giving him no time to strike back. With an uppercut to the stomach, the cult leader doubled over in pain, and as he straighten up again, Priscilla seized him roughly by the throat. The fabric of her gloves began to steam as the cult leader desperately tried to pry her fingers from his throat, but both Priscilla and her gloves were magically enhanced — there was no way they were letting go that easy. Finally, with a sickening crack, the cult leader's neck was broken, and as he fell backward onto the sand, he faded away into ash, never to be seen again.

* * *

_The island undead are scavengers, but you must respect their numbers and their speed. Those that shamble along the shore are similar in nature, though even more closely tied to the draug._

_The cultists are the most autonomous and industrious of the undead. They spent their lives practicing black arts and bowing to all manner of atrocity. Centuries of sleep has apparently done nothing to eliminate old habits._

_Former primordial priests, banished magi, worshippers who sacrificed and were sacrificed. Who knows what else?_

_Something in that black soil nurtured their mystical talents, and inspired them to rise rejuvenated._

_R. Sonnac_

* * *

_Well, that's another chapter down for you! The little lecture about magic circuits and incantations were taken from the Nasuverse, and there'll probably more rules from that universe's brand of magic coming soon._

_As you can see, I took creative license with the cult leader to make him stand out more amidst the draug. There are also several shoutouts throughout the chapter, if you can spot them._

_So how have I been doing so far? Is there anything you like? Anything to complain about? Are the chapters too short? Just make it constructive, and I'll consider it._

_Ciao-ciao._


	15. Men in Black Vans

Though Priscilla and I weren't exactly prime hands when it came to sailing, even we could tell that the _Lady Margaret_ had definitely seen better days. Barnacles and seaweed were growing on the faded green paint of the fishing boat's hull, and reddish rust covered her lusterless metallic parts. The stench of brine lingered in the air as we approached the gangplank, and as we stepped aboard the wet, puddle-covered spar deck, we found that it was littered with lobster cages and other fishing gear, like fishing rods and crab nets. As Priscilla and I came to a stop in the middle of the spar deck and surveyed our surroundings, we froze as we heard footsteps rushing towards us from forward, and we immediately drew our guns.

A monster that looked like the unholy cross between a zombie and the a draug rushed down the ladder of the ship from the forecastle, and as it neared us, it began puking out a sickly yellow-green liquid at us. I leapt backward to avoid getting hit, landing on my butt in the process as the deck sizzled ominously with an acrid odor at the edges of the vomit puddle, as if someone were frying eggs that had long since gone bad.

I brought my Beretta up to fire, only for Priscilla to beat me to the punch, or rather, kick. Her shoe struck the small of the monster's back, sending it sprawling forward into its own barf and probably cracking a bone or two from the force of her blow. As the monster rolled over onto its back in an attempt to get back up for another round, the acid it spewed slowly eating away at its blue-tinged flesh, Priscilla pointed her shotgun into its face and pulled the trigger, spraying us both with the monster's blood. "Eww… Aw man, this is gonna be _hell _to wash out…"

As I finished wiped the gunk off my face with the sleeves of my filthy jacket and stood back up onto my feet, Priscilla frowned, and she got down on one knee to examine the fallen corpse of the monster. "Hey, look at this. It looks like a note…"

"What does it say?" I asked as Priscilla pried the note out of the monster's cold, dead fingers, and she cleared her throat as she unfolded the crumpled piece of paper and began to read aloud.

"Lucky to be writing this. Can't believe what happened… shouldn't believe it. That's what Doc Bannerman would say. Shrink's going to be earning his pay when we get home… If we get home. Larry and his boy Derrick are clammed up. Joe's real fevered. And this thing — still shining like a flashlight. I look over my shoulder, I swear I still see that fog."

There was a pregnant pause as Priscilla and I exchanged glances, and as she stood up with the note in hand and pocketed it, I asked, "So do you have any idea about the writer's talking about?"

"I don't know, Chase, but for now, let's head back to the compound and have a chat with Dr. Bannerman." Priscilla said. I nodded, and together, we left behind the _Lady Margaret_, trading one grim reality for another.

* * *

"The Lady Margaret's last trip was a traumatic experience for everyone on board." Dr. Bannerman said a little while later as he tended to one of the injured survivors sheltered inside the sheriff's office at the survivors' compound. In addition to being Solomon Island's only surviving doctor, he was also a trained psychiatrist.

Priscilla and I sat next to the patient as he lay on his sleeping bag, hacking and coughing like a sickly computer nerd as the good doctor tended to his wounds. "They were changed men when they came back."

"Did any of them get psychiatric help when they returned? They might have a clue as to what's going on." Priscilla asked as she handed Dr. Bannerman a bandage with which to patch up one of the zombie claw marks, and he nodded in the affirmative.

"Of course. I visited with all of them in the days following their return. In my office, there are detailed transcripts of our sessions stored inside the file cabinets. I'm afraid it all happened so fast that day, there was no time to pack. I hope they may shed some light on what happened out there."

The doctor then told us the address of his clinic, and we stood up to leave. As Priscilla and I were walking towards the door, it opened to reveal Sheriff Bannerman, sidearm at her hip like a cowboy. "Ah, I thought I saw you two come back. Got a minute or two to spare?"

Priscilla and I nodded, and Sheriff Bannerman beckoned for us to get outside so we could talk. As we leaned against the wall near the entrance of her office, the sheriff finally began talking. "I got a favor to ask of you while you head out there doin'… whatever you're here to do. Mind hearing me out?"

"Sure, what is it?" I asked.

"See, not everyone who's still alive and breathin' is with us here at the compound." Sheriff Bannerman explained. "Henry Hawthorne the pastor has his word of God, and Norma Creed's got her shotgun…"

"Oh, we met Mrs. Creed." I spoke up. "She's fine out there on Pyramid Point — I don't think you need to worry about her too much, so long as she hasn't run out of ammo."

Sheriff Bannerman chuckled at that. "Yeah, she's tougher than I give her credit for, from what Andy's told me whenever he visits. But no, she's not who I'm worried about — it's Danny Dufresne."

"Danny Dufresne?" Priscilla asked, and Sheriff Bannerman elaborated.

"He's a student at the local high school — around Chase's age, I reckon. His parents own the local fishing supply store, but they're gone now. I keep asking him to come back here where we can keep an eye on him, but he insists on camping out at the skatepark. Since you two are already on your way out, could you go find and check up on him, to make sure nothing's gotten to him?"

Priscilla and I both nodded immediately, and Sheriff Bannerman sighed in relief. As we made our way to the gates of the compound, I spoke up. "Hey Priscilla, why don't we split up and hit two birds with one stone? I check up on Danny, you check Doc Bannerman's files."

Priscilla pursed her lips in thought as she contemplated my suggestion, fingering the synthetic slide of her Benelli as she went over the idea. "You sure about this?"

"I'm positive about this." I responded, doing a pretty good job of keeping the waver in my voice out, and Priscilla reluctantly nodded as she checked the chamber of her shotgun to see if it was loaded with a 12-gauge shell.

"Fine, but I want a text from you within twenty minutes of us splitting up. If I don't hear from you by then, I'm coming to get you."

"Priscilla, relax. I'll be fine. Really." I lied. As we stepped outside the compound's boundaries again, we brought our guns out, and we soon came to a stop some distance away from the barricades. "Well, I guess this is where we go our separate ways. See you later, then."

"See you later." Priscilla repeated after me, and the words gave me a small bit of comfort. _See you later_. That implied that we'd still be alive to see each other. Unfortunately, even that tiny bit of comfort soon died out along with my false smile as Priscilla left, leaving me all alone.

* * *

Due to Kingsmouth's small size, the local skatepark was little more than a concrete depression in the ground — one that was under siege by a small group of zombies trying to push their way past the fortified barricade protecting it. As I drew closer to the fight unseen, I spotted a guy smash an aluminum baseball bat against the head of a zombie that had gotten its clothes stuck on some barbed wire.

He was around my age, with the pale skin indicative of someone who thought _sunlight _was just an eight-letter foreign word, and blonde hair that could've been used as evidence against his barber in court for crimes against fashion. He wore ripped faded gray jeans and a black hoodie over a yellow T-shirt with a zombie vomiting out guts and gore on it, which reminded me of the Chernobyl Chowder incident that finally convinced me to learn how to cook for myself in order to avoid any more cases of food poisoning courtesy of Mom.

In mind's eye, blue glass shattered as a gunshot reverberated throughout my mind, and I began to feel the anima building up in my forearms, literally feeling it in my bones as a subtle, yet powerful tremble. Once I felt the anima reach its peak within my forearms, I then thrust my hands forward towards the group of zombies, zapping them all like flies.

The boy dropped his bat with a clatter as I drew closer to the barricade, and he spoke like a little kid with a hundred bucks in a candy store. "Awesome! I knew it! First the zombies rise from the dead… then they send in the men in black… and then the guys with superpowers show up. This is totally like that one issue of _Katana Guy and Headphones Girl_. Y'know, the one in Antartica with the tentacles and the mutant Nazi zombies?"

"No, sorry — I'm more of a Japanese manga kind of guy." I said as I held out my hand towards him from across the barricade. "I'm Chase Mercer, by the way. Are you Danny Dufresne?"

The boy nodded as he shook my hand as vigorously as he could — that is to say, with the lackluster strength of a porn addict. "I am so psyched to meet you. Can you, like, fly? We could really use some superhero action in this town. I mean… it's the zombie apocalypse!"

"Nope, sorry. I'm no Superman, but if you want something burned, frozen, electrocuted, or just shot, then I'm your man." I said as I spread my jacket open to reveal my Beretta still in its holster. Letting go of my jacket, I then gestured towards the center of the skatepark, where a tent and a picnic table had been set up. "Mind if I come in?"

Danny shook his head as he beckoned for me to climb over the barricade, and as we walked to his camp, he started chattering away. "You'd think with all the hours I put into _Left 4 Dead_, they'd let me carry a gun too, but I just get the runaround. 'You're only 15!' Yeah, I'm also, like, the last man standing. Not counting Andy or Moose. Or Henry. Or Edgar. Anyway… It's not like I'm accidentally going to shoot anyone… living."

To be honest, I couldn't really blame the grownups for not trusting Danny with a firearm. No video game is a good enough substitute for hands-on experience, as I've learned, and while he seemed nice enough, he didn't exactly inspire trust and confidence in me, much less those in authority. I wasn't about to tell him that, however. As I sat down on one of the picnic table's benches, I said, "So what was that you were saying about the men in black? Is Will Smith visiting Kingsmouth?"

"While there's no sign of Will Smith, I did see the rest of the MIBs roll up in their black vans with no license plates. The sheriff didn't believe me when I told her though. I used my RC plane with a wireless webcam — got a bird's eye view of the action." Danny said, gesturing to the miniature airplane sitting on the picnic table's bench. "They're packing some sweet tech… real made-in-Area 51 stuff. Good thing they're on our side. Um… They ARE on our side, right?"

I didn't have an answer for him, and Danny continued. "Yeah, I figured they would be… since they're rounding up the mutant Smurfs…"

"Mutant Smurfs?" I repeated in confusion. "Who's next, then? Tom and Jerry? Jabberjaw? A rabid Scooby-Doo? Please let it not be Scooby-Doo…"

"You know, the draug? The name wasn't my idea. That's Edgar. I think he even collects Smurf figures. He's a bit weird, but he's totally cool once you get to know him. He's real funny. Just stay away from those dogs, Tango and Cash. They're evil. Carry biscuits. Carry lots of biscuits.

"Anyway, I did some research on the draug. Did you know they're from, like, Viking mythology? They're, like, the ghosts of the dead lost at sea. Don't ask me what Vikings are doing in Kingsmouth, but I'm thinking ancient blood curse. It's always a curse…"

"Ah, I see. So what was that you were saying before we got off-topic?"

"Right, right, I was gonna say that they're probably experimenting on the Smurfs too. Think alien autopsy footage in front of a live studio audience. That'd be really neat — in a totally gross way, of course."

"I guess so, if you're into that kind of thing…" I said, shrugging my shoulders, and Danny scratched the back of his head.

"Guess I come across as pretty hyped up about all this, huh? It's not that I'm enjoying it, you know. I'm not one of those Norwegian black metal guys — I don't, like, get off on death. But it feels like all my life I've been waiting for this to happen. I've read the books, watched the movies, played the games, buried a survival kit in the backyard… Now this is happening, it's really happening, the freakin' zombie apocalypse. And people are freaking out, so I can really do something. I can help make things okay again! Well, not like you, this is, like, your summer job."

My head looked up from staring at the concrete at that. Danny's words were already beginning to speed up from excitement. "Saving the world and stuff? Putting your life on the line and the needs of others before your own? Right? Right? You could work on your outfit a bit, though. I'm just saying. It's a bit weak for a superhero. I could, like, show you some sketches after we've gotten through this? I'm thinking mask, black leather, no cape. Capes are so out this year."

I groaned as I rubbed my temples with my fingers. It had been a long day, and it wasn't even noon yet. I was not about to listen to the ramblings of a comic book fanboy who had no idea what he was talking about. Best to scare him straight before he could get any ideas about what life was really like. Taking a deep breath, I stood up to face Danny, whose words died in his throat as I addressed him. "Listen to me _very carefully_, because these next five words are very important, alright?"

Danny swallowed and nodded wordlessly under my gaze. "I. Am. Not. A. Hero. I never was a superhero, and I never will be. I only took this job because I was offered protection against those who'd want to exploit me because of _this, _and trust me, it's not fun and games being me."

I snapped my fingers, triggering my circuits and causing a blue flame to roar to life atop my thumb. Danny's wide, frightened eyes were glued to the fire, and I kept his attention as I repeated the words of Brigadier Lethe. "I am a loaded weapon — a danger to myself as well as others. If you want to get a feel for what life is like with powers, try strapping some C4 to your chest. Now let me say this again: I am _not _a superhero. Are we clear?"

Danny nodded vigorously, eyes still glued to the flame like moths, and I put the fire out, satisfied that he got the message. Taking out my phone, I then sent a text to Priscilla, saying that I was alright and had Danny with me, as well as everything Danny had told me about the "MIBs." As I put my phone away, I sighed as I saw the expression on his face, like a kid had just been told Santa Claus was real, but was also a misanthropic old man not shy about beating the kids on his naughty list. "Hey, look — I'm sorry, alright? It's just been one thing after another today, you know? Anyway, my name's Chase Mercer. What's yours?"

"Danny. Danny Dufresne." Danny said, taking the hint and shaking my hand again. "So, uh… how's having superpowers working out for you? My friend Carter over at Innsmouth Academy has some real Sam Krieg novel stuff going on. It's pretty wild. Like, any girl can give you a drop-dead look, only she could probably do it for real, but she's not like that at all. She won't even kill plants. I've given up on asking her to.

"For someone with powers, though, Carter is totally normal — not that I'm saying you're a freak or anything. I mean, you are, but in a good way. You know what? Forget I said anything." Danny finished lamely, and I chuckled as I gestured for him to go on. "Carter does get steamed about the weirdest things, though, like me going out alone, but she's not the only one. Sheriff Bannerman wants me back at the station by curfew. Like being out past dinnertime is a big deal when the dead walk the earth?"

"Yeah, I see where you're coming from." I said, glad at not having turned the atmosphere too awkward. "My partner Priscilla's the same way, and I have superpowers to back me up."

"Oh, can she shoot lightning out of her hands like you can?" Danny asked, and I shook my head.

"No, but she does have super strength and a shotgun. Trust me — you do not want to be on the other end of either. Several of the Smurfs found that out the hard way."

Danny chuckled a little. "Well, I may not be able to shoot lightning or smash through concrete, but I'm a good runner, and I'm, like, great with wires and motors and microchips and stuff. 'Necessity is the mother of invention,' right? I've already rigged a bunch of defenses around the town, so watch your step, I figure every superhero needs a brilliant inventor. I've got that much to aspire to. I'm the geeky sidekick. Yay."

"Thanks for the tip about the traps. I'll be sure to watch out for them." I said, nodding my head. "So where exactly did you see the men in black?"

"I saw them park one of their vans to the north of here, just up the road near the beach." Danny said, pointing.

My phone then buzzed in the pocket of my jacket, and taking it out, I saw that Priscilla had finally replied to my text. Getting out of my seat, Danny and I bumped fists. "Hey, thanks for the info, man. I gotta get going now, so stay safe from the Smurfs, alright?"

"You too." Danny said, and I turned back towards the barricade to await Priscilla's arrival.

* * *

**Case #43781 — Lady Margaret Incident**

**Regarding Patients  
**Derrick Creed, Lawrence Creed, and Joe Slater.

**Contact Details  
**Lawrence and Derrick Creed (Business address) - 5 Main Street, 555-1004  
Joe Slater (Home address) - 4 Belmont Avenue, 555-1782

**Referral  
**They came to me after the Lady Margaret limped back into the harbor. All of them needed help, so I arranged separate interviews.

**Diagnosis  
**It is too early to tell, but something clearly happened on that ship.

**Derrick Creed  
**Derrick suffers from severe headaches and a keen sense of paranoia. The similarities with Joe Slater and Lawrence Creed are alarming. It seem the symptoms develop at uneven rates, but I fear everyone on the boat might be affected with this. Whatever it is.

**Lawrence Creed  
**Second consultation with Lawrence today. The headaches are getting worse, to the point where he can no longer function normally. The paranoia has not abated and he has developed a new symptom: night terrors. I prescribed an anti-depressant, but if his development is anything like Joe's, I fear he will only get worse.

**Joe Slater  
**I saw Joe again today. This was the fourth consultation, and I'm at a loss. He was barely coherent, his left leg twitched and he obsessively scratched his right arm. Paranoia has developed into severe delusions. Consulted with Hartmann in New York who suggested the symptoms are more likely signs of schizophrenia, which echo my earlier diagnosis. With others from the boat presenting with similar symptoms, however, and the patient's lack of response to medication, I fear this might be something environmental. Something eating away at the brain. Prescribed clozapine, but I am not optimistic.

* * *

"Find anything interesting?" Priscilla asked as we walked down the road to where Danny said the MIBs' van was, and I looked up at her from the file she had retrieved from Dr. Bannerman's office.

"It's weird how they all experienced headaches and paranoia, right? Think something happened on the Lady Margaret? Something that brought the draug here to Kingsmouth? And didn't Mrs. Creed say her husband's name was Larry?"

"I'm sure you're right about Mrs. Creed being married to Lawrence, but we've already visited that source and turned up dry." Priscilla said. "As for the incident aboard the _Lady Margaret_, I'm sure that's what brought the fog here. We'll pay the patients a visit soon to find out more, but for now, we need to find out who these 'men in black' are, and what they want from the situation here. Look — there's the van."

The trunk door of the van was open, exposing a black laptop computer that had a login screen blinking on it, as well as a strange device, but what caught my attention were the two dead bodies sitting in the front seats. "Oh God… What happened here?"

While Priscilla checked out the computer and device in the trunk, I went over to the front to examine the bodies. The hood of the truck was busted pretty good, like someone had just taken a Louisville Slugger to it, and through the cracks in the broken glass, I could see that the bodies were that of a man and a woman's, still freshly killed judging by how they looked and smelled. The woman had long, dark hair, and the man had a black crew cut and looked to be of Asian descent.

Judging from the gaping holes in both the bodies and the windshield, I determined that something had impaled them through the windshield, the most likely culprit being one of the draug from the nearby beach. I could see the scene now: the two agents having just reached the safety of their van, only for the draug pursuing them to clamber up onto the hood and stab them through the glass.

To my surprise, the doors were unlocked, and I opened them to see that the key was still in the ignition. I then began going through the agents' pockets to see if they still had anything useful on them, like cash. (I'm kidding, of course. I'm not _that_ unscrupulous.)

Unfortunately, there was no money to be found, but I did find the ID cards of one Emily Chan and one Kitsune Hayabusa, which is a pretty cool name, as _kitsune_ means fox in Japanese, and _hayabusa_ means peregrine falcon. Aside from the male agent's name, there was one other thing on their ID cards that I found intriguing: the black spiral sigil emblazoned on the white plastic. "The Orochi Group? What's a big company like that doing here?"

"Hey Chase! You find anything?" Priscilla called out from the trunk.

"Yeah, I got the agents' ID cards. They're from the Orochi Group. Any luck with the computer?"

"No, all I know is that the password is the name of someone's wife."

"Hmm… Okay, let me look these guys up on my phone and get back to you in a minute, alright?"

It's times like these that make me feel really glad that I live in the twenty-first century. A quick Google search with the keywords Kitsune, Hayabusa, Orochi, brought me the information I needed. Kitsune Hayabusa was an employee at Vali, the Orochi Group's pharmaceutical subsidiary that focused on genetic research and biotechnology, and was married to Sally Anderson, who also worked for the company. "Hey Priscilla, try typing in 'Sally' and see if that's the password."

A soft hiss of satisfaction from Priscilla alerted me to the fact that she managed to log in successfully, and I waited for her to peruse through the files that had once been protected. "Find anything?"

Priscilla nodded as she picked up the strange device lying next to the computer. "Looks like those idiots from the Orochi Group built a machine that attracts monsters to its location. Luckily, they left behind this tracking device for us to use. Come on, let's go shut it off."

I followed Priscilla down to the nearby beach, and we jogged along the shore until we came across a shallow pool in between two rocky overhangs. There sat the occult attractor, looking like a copy machine with a small, plate-sized satellite dish on top as well as a glowing red light which I assumed to mean that the machine was currently on. Behind it some distance away, several draug were milling about like hungover partygoers in the morning, wondering how the hell they managed to end up on the roof of the house.

"I stand guard while you figure out where the off switch is?" Priscilla suggested, and I nodded in agreement. Approaching the machine with caution, I then knelt down in order to examine it further.

Okay, so while the machine looked like a photocopier in the middle of a midlife crisis, without a manual or any prior experience to guide me, it might as well have been a Rubik's cube. Thus, I resorted to the time-honored method of pushing random buttons and flipping random switches. After a minute or two of trying things out, the red light atop the machine finally went out. "Hey, I think I turned it off!"

A quick look around told me that none of the draug had taken notice of us, and Priscilla signaled for us to get the hell out of Dodge. Getting up onto my feet, Priscilla and I ran back to the relative safety of the van at full speed, glancing back over our shoulders every so often to make sure the draug weren't chasing after us. It seemed kind of anticlimactic, but hey, I'm not complaining.

Huffing and puffing, Priscilla and I sat down beneath the shade of the open trunk door, and she wordlessly handed me a bottle of water from her duffel bag of supplies. "Let's take a break for now to catch our breath, and then we can go look up the crew members of the _Lady Margaret_."

"Agreed." I said as I took a swig of water. Together, Priscilla and I sat there, enjoying a moment of respite in the midst of the zombie (and draug) apocalypse. After a little while had passed, I then turned my head towards Priscilla. "I don't suppose you packed any calamari in that bag, did you?"

* * *

_We are frightfully concerned by the presence of the Orochi Group. They are an immensely broad and powerful corporate conglomerate with influence on the Council. As a result, we really shouldn't be tampering in their affairs._

_One would like to believe they are using their excessive means to contain and remedy the current situation. That is, of course, unlikely._

_Before I take the moral high ground, I feel I should qualify the position. We cannot damn these corporate interests for operating without thought to the Kingsmouth survivors. After all, is that not similar to the instructions I gave you two?_

_You two, however, are working towards a greater good. These "scientists," by leaving an open invitation to further horrors, are only making a greater mess. The technology is most impressive, but the common sense of those applying it leaves much to be desired._

_And now they are dead. You see why our approach is so very needed._

_R. Sonnac_

* * *

_Yet another chapter complete! Yeah, not a whole lot of action in this chapter, but then again, the original mission was an Investigation type, so it's only natural to have less action thriller stuff._

_Chase might've come across as a bit too harsh on Danny, so I'll try to (poorly) justify my weak writing skills by saying that he's been through stuff no one, much less a teenager, should have to go through, and that someone with Danny's attitude toward the situation would only further exacerbate Chase's cruddy mood. _

_I once heard that if you don't like a person, it's because they remind you of something you don't like about yourself. Not sure how this argument holds up against disliking robbers, murderers, terrorists, the idiots who screwed up the plot of the _Percy Jackson_ books for the big screen, etc., but in this case, it's kind of appropriate. _

_See, Danny reminds Chase of the subdued idealism that was a part of his motivation to join the Templars — idealism that Chase quickly realized has no place in the Secret World upon attacking his first chained-up rakshasa in the Crucible and now berates himself for even having in the first place. _

_On a side note, I am not particularly fond of Devon Gearhart, Danny's voice actor. The delivery of his lines have all the emotion of a teaspoon, so I tried to make up for it somewhat here._

_Also, the mention of calamari. TV Tropes would call that a "Brick Joke." Look it up. On second thought, don't — not unless you want your life to be ruined._

_Ciao-ciao._


	16. The Curious Case of Joe Slater

It all happened so fast that I barely had time to process the event occurring. One moment, Priscilla and I were standing outside the locked door of the Creeds' hardware store on Main Street. The next, we heard something land with a heavy thud on the street behind us, and it turned out to be an iron giant that looked like it had been jury-rigged from pieces of scrap metal. My senses were then snapped back to reality by the sound of the iron giant's heavy footsteps slamming against the concrete as it hurried towards us.

In my mind's eye, blue glass shattered to the sound of a gunshot, and I snapped my fingers to cause a fiery explosion next to the iron giant, sending it reeling. As the iron giant stumbled backward, Priscilla blasted away at the giant with her shotgun. "Chase! Get ready to bring on the thunder!"

"Right!" I said as I began charging up more anima in my forearms. Once the anima in my circuits reached its peak after a second or two, I thrust both my hands forward for two bolts of lightning to leapt towards the iron giant like lunging snakes. The automaton faltered as the twin thunderbolts struck it at the same time, and Priscilla let loose a few more blasts of buckshots at it while it was vulnerable. As my assault ended and the last of the electricity crackled away in the cracks and crevasses of the automaton's body, Priscilla leapt in bare-handed to go toe-to-toe with the automaton.

The automaton swung its right arm at Priscilla only for her to duck beneath the blow and Reinforce her fist for a devastating straight that pushed back the automaton a few paces. The iron giant's next blow was intercepted by Priscilla's forearm, who retaliated by seizing the iron giant's arm and throwing it over her shoulder in a judo flip onto the road. It was actually pretty funny, seeing a monster a good head or two taller than Priscilla get flipped onto its back like a giant pancake.

Priscilla then dealt the coup de grâce by repeatedly stomping on the automaton's lumpy head with a Reinforced leg that must've hit like a pile driver. As the automaton finally stopped twitching, I cautiously closed the distance between me and Priscilla, having stayed far away to let her get down to business without having to worry about me. "Okay, so… Just what the heck was that?"

"A golem." Priscilla answered. "I studied golemtry back in London. It's like magical puppetry, but instead of strings, the magus makes use of focused thaumaturgical currents to bring the puppet to life, but the Creeds' don't strike me as closet magi. If complex thaumaturgical processes are happening all on their own, then there's definitely more to the situation than just the dead rising from the grave. I'll inform Sonnac about this."

After Priscilla had sent off her quick text to Mr. Sonnac, I cautiously knocked on the door of the Creeds' shop in case the owners were hiding another golem inside, and waited for a response. A few seconds passed, and having not heard anything, I decided to just cut the Gordian knot and kick through the glass of the door with a Reinforced leg. One good Sparta kick, and the shards of glass came tumbling down onto the floor. Ducking my head down beneath the shards of glass still hanging on like broken teeth, I beckoned for Priscilla to follow me inside.

The supplies inside the Creed brothers' hardware store had already been cleared out by the survivors at the sheriff's office, leaving behind empty shelves and signs advertising a fifty-percent discount on disappeared hammers and nonexistent gardening tools. Drawing our guns, Priscilla and I began a sweep of the building's interior SWAT team style. After a few minutes of wary searching, we turned up nothing unusual for the situation. Finally, we reached the back door of the hardware store, and as Priscilla open the door, she stopped in her tracks. "Hey, I think I found the Creeds."

I looked to see that there were two dead zombies lying slumped against the back wall of the shop for no apparent reason. It was as if they had decided to lie back and just snuff it, right there and then, and it made me wish that more of the zombies mucking around Kingsmouth could be more like them when they finally turned.

"Check their pockets." Priscilla ordered, and we both moved to inspect the rotting corpses. By now, my stomach hardly grumbled at the decaying stench of the Creeds as I reached into the pocket of the dead man's jeans and pulled out a wallet. There was no money inside, but instead, there was a driver's license with a picture of an old man on it — more specifically, Lawrence Creed. "I got Lawrence Creed here. What about you?"

"I've got Derrick." Priscilla answered as she stood up from putting the dead guy's wallet away. "I guess all that's left to do is to find Joe Slater. Come on, let's go, Chase."

* * *

Joe Slater's house on Belmont Avenue was your average small colonial home, big enough for a small family. There was no answer when we rang the doorbell, so with a bronco-like back kick, Priscilla kicked down the front door, and aiming her shotgun down the hallway, she then moved out from cover behind the doorframe, and I followed her example, making sure to keep an eye on our six in case we had another golem attack.

We called out for Joe Slater as Priscilla and I swept through the house, trying to find him, but we soon came out empty-handed. As we stepped outside the house again, discouraged, I said, "Hey, do you think Joe might've already turned into a zombie?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Either way, we have to find him." Priscilla said with a conviction in her voice that would've made Brigadier Lethe proud. I exhaled through my nostrils as I closed my eyes, racking my brain to try and figure out what to do next, but I was coming up short. Then I heard the stirrings of magic coming from somewhere nearby. The magic manifested itself to me as moans and groans, but these weren't like the ones the undead made. No — this one still sounded living, and the voice echoed like it was in a cave. "Hey, you felt that too, right?"

Priscilla nodded as her hand twitched, the telltale sign that she too had felt something going on. "Yep. Feels like someone just slipped me a wet squid covered in mud. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

We both glanced at the manhole covering barely a few feet away from us, and I grimaced. I could just see the laundry piling up in Priscilla's apartment almost half a world away. In fact, I was almost tempted to burn them, waste of money be damned. "I think so, but to be honest, I'm not exactly looking forward to getting dumped in a sewer."

"Eh, don't worry about it. You'll be fine." Priscilla said, smiling that damned Colgate smile of hers as she patted me on the back on the way to the manhole. The gesture only served to deepen my mock scowl, however, as I playfully shoved her.

"Easy for you to say. I'm the one who's been doing all the housekeeping for you lately. Hell, I should be getting paid for it..." I remarked, but Priscilla pointedly ignored me as she lifted up the covering for us to get in. I sighed once more in resignation as I mentally bid my (relatively) clean clothes goodbye and placed a sneaker sole on the top rung of the exposed ladder. "Well then, down the rabbit hole, I go…"

Once my feet had touched the wet bottom of the Kingsmouth sewer system, I looked around in the dim light coming from the surface to see that the sewer was absurdly spacious, considering the size of the town it serviced. Not that I was complaining, of course — I wasn't exactly eager to have to get down on all fours and stick my hands in toilet water contaminated with who knows what.

As she too entered the sewers, Priscilla handed me a flashlights, and together with our guns at the ready, we ventured off into the darkness. My Beretta was ready in the Harries technique, where my right hand held my gun as it rested on my left wrist for support, and my other hand held my flashlight in a reverse grip for light. It was times like these that I really appreciated the glowing green dots of my Beretta's tritium sights, as they allowed me to aim even in the dark.

Priscilla took point with her shotgun, and I stayed close to her as we went deeper and deeper into the dank darkness of the sewer. The further we went, the further I strained my ears for any sign of danger, but all I could hear was the whisper of a song: hauntingly beautiful, with a soothing voice that made me want to follow it to its source with my eyes half-closed. More pressing matters kept me focused on the task at hand however, and the lights of our flashlights roved around the inky darkness in front of us, illuminating the stone surfaces of the sewer, as well as the muck seeping into the soles of our shoes. The tunnels seemed interminable until we heard a low moan come from somewhere nearby, and we immediately swerved our flashlights towards where the sound was coming from.

Priscilla let out a gasp while I managed to restrain myself at the sight illuminated before us. Huddled low in the muck was a figure barely recognizable as a man, with his battered old fishing hat and waterproof red-and-black raincoat. What really got our attention though was the thick trunk of blue flesh covered with coral that he called a left arm. "Holy… Are you… Joe Slater?"

The figure nodded as he squinted at us. His voice came out in a rasp that sounded as if he had been gargling pebbles. "Look on your faces says even my good side is worse for wear. I've been trying not to think about the… changing. Like it could all be a bad dream I ain't woken up from."

Joe Slater stood up from the muck so he could face us, and to our horror, we saw that the other arm had tentacles sprouting from and writhing out of the skin, while the other side of his face was pockmarked with barnacles. Wild eyes stared us without breaking their gaze as Priscilla questioned the man, hesitation in her voice. "Can you… tell us about what happened

Joe Slater nodded jerkily and as he gasped out his next words, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Nightmares, all nightmares, since that storm blew us off course. Off the compass, off the map. We didn't tell anyone about the shit we saw. About dead ships all caught up in red weed as far as you could see. About the things moving in the fog… In the water. About what we saw beneath it all, deep into the abyss. Or what I found there.

"What did you find?" I pressed, and Joe's eyes never left ours as he answered my question.

"In that dungeon darkness, it shone like a signal flare. Like something fallen down from heaven above, you understand?"

I sure as hell didn't, and I doubt Priscilla did, either. However, we both knew enough to keep our mouths shut, and Joe Slater seemed to sense our confusion. He finally broke eye contact with us, and he began to pace slowly in the sewer water, speaking in a raspy whisper as he occasionally glanced back at us.

"A blade and sheath made of pure light, things of terrible beauty. I could hear its siren song, just… _calling_ me. Last I remember was the Creed boys hollering as I took a hold of it. Or it took a hold of me. I wasn't strong enough, I know that now. They told me it pushed back the fog and the waves while I was out cold. Told me it saved us. It didn't save us. That thing brought the fog back to Kingsmouth.

Joe Slater's voice then broke, and the next seven words came out in a broken, raspy whisper. "_I_ brought the fog back to Kingsmouth."

Joe Slater then suddenly moved, and before either of us could react, he had grabbed my shoulder. Priscilla brought up her shotgun as my instincts kicked in, and with my free hand, I grabbed Joe Slater by his wrist and twisted his hand off of me, holding it in place as I aimed my gun at his heart.

A few tense seconds passed before the tableau finally broke, and Joe Slater withdrew his hand from mine. As Joe Slater rasped out his next words, Priscilla and I cautiously lowered our guns, still wary of the wild stare in his eyes. "And I still hear that siren song! I know you hear it, too. You could find it. You could stop the god-awful noise!"

Here, Joe Slater turned his back on us to stare at the tentacles wriggling on his arm like dark worms. "You could put that burning brightness back where it belongs! In the deep, in the dark… I wonder what would've happened if I never left that red sea. Maybe Joe Slater never did… and all this is just some pitch dark dreaming…"

Joe Slater then turned around again, and for the first time, he seemed to notice the guns in our hands. He looked up at Priscilla from staring at my Beretta, and I was unnerved by the almost… _eager _expression on his face. "Hey… I got one last thing to ask of you. Hear me out, 'kay?"

Priscilla hesitantly nodded, and an ominous feeling began to permeate the sewer as Joe Slater began rambling. "You've seen those monsters out there in the bay, right? I'm already halfway to becoming one of… _them_. But you! You can stop me before the changing's complete!"

My heart fell deep into my stomach, where it began to churn and grow colder in fear. Priscilla audibly gulped before opening her mouth, and even then, her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. "You're asking me to kill you?"

Joe Slater nodded way too eagerly for us to be comfortable, and the cold feeling in my stomach only grew icier as he continued. "You see these tentacles on my arm, don't you? It's only a matter of time before I lose my mind to this siren's song and come crawling out of the sewers to come after the others. So please — put me out of my misery."

"No. No, I won't do it." Priscilla said, shaking her head. Then it occurred to me that this was the first time she had actually killed a person who didn't need it. Sure, she had seen people die during her days as a combat medic before she had met me, but this was probably the first time she had been asked to deliver euthanasia via shotgun blast. When she had spoken to me about her experiences with the Templars, she always stressed that she did her utmost to save her patients, even when the chances of their survival were highly unlikely at best, and reading-_Twilight_-and-not-wanting-to-bash-your-head-against-the-wall improbable at worst.

A situation like this, when one party asked to die by her hands was almost complete anathema to both her personality and her training as a paramedic — but it wasn't for me. Switching the manual safety of my Beretta off, I then found the will to speak up. "If Priscilla won't do it, then I will."

"Chase!" Priscilla gasped in shock, and she watched me with wide amber eyes as Joe turned towards me, the gratitude evident on his face. I can't tell you how awful the look she was giving me made me feel. I might as well have told her that I was a serial killer or that I hated Dungeons and Dragons. I swallowed the bile building up in my throat back down into my stomach, which quickly froze over as I hardened my heart by focusing on the task at hand.

Checking my Beretta to see if there was a round in the chamber, I then aimed down the tritium sights at the awaiting face of Joe Slater. Out of the corner of my eye, I was keenly aware of Priscilla's horrified gaze upon me as I prepared to take the shot.

To be honest, I wasn't sure about this. I mean, sure I've shot at the rakshasa chained up in the Crucible, and I must've killed dozens of monsters on my way here alone, but that didn't mean I was prepared to take a human life, especially if the situation wasn't life or death.

However, if we didn't put down Joe, he'd become a threat to both us as well as the other survivors, and to me, that was even more unpalatable than having to kill him — the lesser of two evils, so to speak. Even so, the thought of having to stain my hands with any sort of evil made me feel deeply uncomfortable.

Sometimes, though, you can't save everyone. That's the bitter truth of the world, and if the sacrifice of a single life could save many, then there really was no contest, now was there? At least, that was the way I rationalized it.

It was almost like an out-of-body experience for me as my thumb cocked back the hammer of my pistol for a smoother trigger pull, as if I were watching someone else do it through their own eyes. As I removed my trigger finger from the trigger guard to press it lightly against the curve of the trigger, I idly marveled at how easy it was to kill someone with a gun. With just one little squeeze of the trigger, a life could be snuffed out with the same effort as blowing out a candle. Scary what we human beings can come up with, huh? In a way, that's a lot more frightening than all the monsters lurking in the shadows of the secret world.

The white flash of gunpowder that erupted from the gun's muzzle like a volcano illuminated the sewer briefly as the bullet was sent flying towards Joe Slater, and I watched detachedly as he fell backward into the muck with a splash, with a small, bloody hole right in the center of his forehead. As my flashlight shone on his face, I could see the smallest of smiles etched upon the barnacled face of the man I had just killed.

Switching on the manual safety and lowering my pistol with shaking hands and fingers, I then spoke aloud in a voice that was almost as hoarse as Joe's, and with an unwanted tremble to it. "Whatever you have to say, Priscilla — don't. I don't want to hear it."

The hateful broadside I had expected to come from Priscilla never came. Instead, I could feel her arms wrap around my upper body as I stared into the muck, unchanged by the blood seeping into it. I could feel something dripping onto my shoulder, but I had a good feeling that it wasn't sewer water. I glanced back and forth between the gun in my hand and the dead body of Joe Slater. It was amazing how much someone could change within the span of a day.

I breathed in deeply as I closed my eyes, wiping away the tears mourning the loss of my innocence building up in the corners, and I could hear the siren's song again. I could hear it now — how the song might drive someone like Joe Slater to assisted suicide after a long while. I then shook my head to rid myself of all thought of Joe Slater, and Priscilla's arms disengaged themselves from my body. "Come on, Priscilla — I think I can lead us to where the song Joe was talking about is coming from."


	17. Beaumont and Cassandra

As Priscilla helped me out of the manhole and onto the street, I could still hear the siren's song in my ears. As I stood up straight and took a look around, the song seemed to grow louder as my gaze fell upon the sight of the outskirts of Kingsmouth, unblocked by any of the town's buildings. "There — I think that's where we're supposed to go."

Priscilla nodded, and I took the lead, partially because my sensitivity to the siren's song seemed to be greater than Priscilla's, but mostly because I didn't want to see the look on her face. I just wouldn't have been able to bear it if she looked at me any differently than before, or maybe that was just the siren's song stuck in my head.

The longer I listened to the music, the more I felt like stabbing knives into my ears to try and make the noise stop. While my special earplugs might be good for blocking out the sound of gunfire, they didn't help at all with the insufferable noise drilling their way through my skull. Not wanting to listen to the song any longer than I had to, lest I go insane, I broke into a brisk jog, and Priscilla followed close behind. Following the trail of melodious sound, I led us off the beaten path and into the woods beyond. We leapt off the roots of trees, dodged the zombies wandering around aimlessly before they could notice us, and rushed past the abandoned station wagons and trucks left lying on the dirt roads.

The song grew stronger and louder the closer we got, until it was almost deafening to me as we finally arrived at our destination: a long tunnel connected to the main road. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I then pointed into the tunnel's inky depths. "This is the place. I can feel it. Let's go in before I go crazy from the noise in my head."

Priscilla nodded as she readied her pistol and turned on her flashlight, piercing the darkness of the tunnel with a long spear of bright light. "I got point. Cover my six, Chase."

I didn't need to be told twice, and drawing my gun, I followed Priscilla cautiously into the tunnel with my own flashlight. We took our time in examining the walls and ceiling of the tunnel with the roving lights of our flashlights, until Priscilla's came across a heavy metal door. "You getting anything from this, Chase?"

I pressed my ear against the cold and unfeeling metal of the door, and after a second or two of listening to the pulsating magic hidden behind the door, I removed my ear from it and nodded. "Yeah, it's definitely here. The door's open, too — better be careful."

I let Priscilla open the door with her magically-reinforced strength, and together, we ventured into what I assumed to be the maintenance tunnel. Moving carefully past wooden crates lying around and decrepit rusty pipes against the wall, we stayed on our toes for any sign of trouble. At this point, the siren's song seemed to be booming out of the walls, as if I had just walked into a store aisle stocked full of stereos playing the same damn song at full volume, but for the sake of concealing our presence from potential hostiles, I had to suffer in silence.

"Quick, turn off your flashlight!" Priscilla hissed as we rounded a corner, and as I did so, she pointed towards some lights coming from a doorway. Pressing ourselves against the concrete wall of the maintenance tunnel, we quietly crept towards the doorway. "Are you sensing anything, Chase? I'm not getting anything."

"Negative." I answered softly after tuning in for any sign of magic as Priscilla cautiously glanced from the doorway into the room. I didn't hear anything call out to me from within the darkness, and then I realized that something that had been there all this time — something _very_ important — was now missing. "Hey, the song's stopped playing. So is anyone there?"

"Nope. I think it's safe to go in." Priscilla answered quietly as she went inside the room. Like the rest of the maintenance tunnel, the room had concrete walls lined with dusty wooden crates and rusty old pipes, but it was fairly spacious, and there was a desk covered with books and notes. Priscilla inspected a map of what appeared to be Solomon Island that was taped to the concrete wall, some sort of strange marking drawn in red inhabiting the top right corner, while I checked out the notes left behind.

An advertisement for scenic flights courtesy of Kingsmouth Municipal Airport was taped to the corner of one particular page, and several words were hastily scribbled in black ink onto the paper, as if the writer had been in a rush to get their thoughts down on paper:

_Black heart of the island. Illuminati archives. Fucking tunnels must be an entrance, but where? Several entrances? All lead to the archives? Home — basement — secret, forgotten, inconspicuous. Aerial view. Scenic tour._

As I looked up from taking photos of the various notes with my smart phone to save them for later, I noticed a symbol painted on the wall the desk was set up against: a blue circle set inside of a blue triangle cut into three equal parts. Illuminati territory confirmed, then. Priscilla and I had been right to stay on our toes.

As I snapped another picture with my phone's camera, I then froze as I suddenly heard something that sounded suspiciously like footsteps coming towards us. Inhaling and closing my eyes to focus on my surroundings, I thought I could hear two pairs of feet drawing closer and closer to us. "Wait… do you hear that?"

There was a momentary pause before we ducked behind some nearby wooden crates for cover, and a tense second passed before a voice finally made itself known to us. "…finally silenced the incessant noise and moved it to a safer place."

I peeked out from behind the crate to see that the voice belonged to a man wearing what seemed to be the black robes of a priest. His dark hair fell down to his shoulders, and stubble grew on a face that probably would've been called handsome if it weren't for the frustrated scowl marring it. A second voice then spoke up — a woman's this time. "So where—"

"Away from here." The man said curtly as he inspected the map on the wall, the one I had just taken pictures of moments before. "I'm not in a sharing mood, Cassandra, and the moaning isn't helping."

"That's not what you said last night." The woman named Cassandra purred with a Southern accent as she crept close behind the man.

To be honest, my first thought upon seeing Cassandra was this: _Hellooo, nurse_! Once my teenage hormones had gotten their fill, I began to think more coherently. She had bleached blonde hair and a seductive smile on her face. She was dressed as provocatively as the man was clothed conservatively, with a pink necklace hanging from her slender neck, and a tight white tank top, adorned with a heart pierced with an arrow, hugging her upper body. From the legs of red denim cutoff shorts sprouted legs that went on for miles, and… well… you get the idea.

The man huffed in annoyance as he turned away towards the desk and away from where Priscilla and I were hiding, and Cassandra pouted cutely as she got down from her seat on the desk. She put her hands on the man's shoulder and pressed her body closely to his arm. Girl sure knew how to work her sex appeal. "Oh baby, I thought we had something. Something _magic_… Black as space, and red as blood…"

"This is so very far beyond you, little girl…" The man said in a low warning tone, and Cassandra sighed dramatically as she backed off and rested her hands on the edge of the desk adjacent to the man as she leaned against the table.

"Oh, fuck off. I've seen the beyond, and I'm a fast learner. I'm ready for more than… _this_." Cassandra said, gesturing with her hands. Pink fingernails, with a silver ring on her middle finger. "Give me _something_. Let me in. Let me do what I'm good at."

"What, getting the boys to sign over their lives for a snog?" The man snorted, and Cassandra rolled her eyes as she turned her back on the man. "I'll tell you what you can do. We're spreading an idea, but that idea won't take hold without carriers. You keep spreading those long legs of yours to recruit more foot soldiers."

"Be still, my beating heart." I could just barely hear Cassandra mutter discontentedly as she turned to face the man again. "Here's what I don't get, Beaumont. You heave what you've been looking for, your precious magic sword. You control the armies of the living dead. You pretty much own this island, so the question is… why the sour face?"

Magic sword? Didn't Joe Slater say something about a sword bringing the fog to Kingsmouth? Could that be the reason why Kingsmouth was under attack? I looked to Priscilla hiding behind the crate next to the one I was using as a hiding spot, and her face alone told me that she was thinking along the same lines I was.

"I mean, what is that you're—" Realization then dawned on Cassandra's confused face mid-sentence, and she lowered her hand from caressing Beaumont's visage, which was growing ever more annoyed with the girl standing next to him. "…You're missing something. Right? This is interesting. Your treasure, your precious… You can't use it, can you? I mean, the spirit is willing, but the flesh…"

I had to look away as Cassandra reached for Beaumont's crotch. I mean, I have nothing against women who are proactive in the pursuit of their relationships, but that was just a bit too forward for my liking. I have to give credit to Beaumont, though — can't be easy dealing with a woman like Cassandra and staying coherent. If it were me, I'd probably clam up or try to excuse myself, saying that I needed to go iron my dog or walk my laundry or something like that. "Oh my, the flesh… is… _limp_."

"Watch it, little girl." I heard Beaumont growl in a warning tone. "You have no idea what—"

My blood froze in my veins as Priscilla made an inadvertent noise in easing her discomfort from sitting so still, and we held our breath as Cassandra spoke up quizzically. "What?"

"You want to know what this is really about, Cassie dear, when it all comes down to it?" Beaumont asked, regaining control of the conversation, and the two of us listening in on the conversation refrained from breathing sighs of relief as he spoke. "Change. Evolution. A new dawn. The world tree will shake, the sun will turn black, and the gods themselves will fall. We are _rebooting_ the world."

Well, someone was feeling dramatic today. Peering around the box, I saw Cassandra take a seat atop the desk. "That's the thing, isn't it? What everyone talks about. It's the big headline. The dawning of a new age. Right? Tokyo, the endless night. I like it. There's poetry to it, and oh does it suit you, the evil sorcerer thing. It's _sexy_."

"The answer is in the archives somewhere." Beaumont muttered, ignoring the seductive allure of Cassandra's voice as he turned his attention back to the map. "It has to be. They knew about it, the gateway to the black heart of the island. I have the key… but the lock… The lock is the fucking thing…"

"Wait, didn't you say that the lock—?" Cassandra asked as she approached Beaumont from behind, but he quickly cut her off.

"I've been around long enough to recognize the flavor of the day, Cassie…" Beaumont answered coldly. "…and _you're_ it."

"Oh. Really? So that's it?" Cassandra asked, offended as she put her hands on her hips. "That's how you repay me…?" A pregnant pause. "You piece of _shit_… No more."

Cassandra's footsteps paused for a moment as she walked away out of sight. "Take one last good look at what you're missing…" She then spat out her next words as she slapped her butt. "…_lover boy_."

"Useless bitch…" Beaumont muttered, turning back to the map as Cassandra's footsteps grew farther and farther away. "The Illuminati and their bloody labyrinths…"

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Priscilla and I could sigh in relief as we heard Beaumont leave, but we were cautious not to make too much noise as we worked out the kinks in our bodies, just in case somebody else was listening. "So what now, Priscilla?"

"You've got Beaumont's notes on your phone, right?" Priscilla asked, and I nodded. "Good. We can use them to follow his trail and get to the bottom of all this."

"Sounds like a plan." I answered as the both of us stood up, and together, we ventured back out into the darkness.


	18. Scrapyard Defense

After exiting the tunnel, Priscilla and I set off at a brisk pace to Kingsmouth Municipal Airport, the place most likely to hold clues as to where Beaumont would be headed. After consulting the map Priscilla had obtained at the sheriff's office earlier, while I was learning the art of BOOM from Moose, we had decided to follow the roads — a path that would take us down Solomon Road, across Langmore Bridge, down Kingsmouth Drive, and up Dunwich Road to the airport.

The few zombies and Smurfs we encountered on our way to their airport were easily dealt with, so the only event worth mentioning that happened on our way to the airport was when we neared the entrance of Kingsmouth's local scrapyard on Dunwich Road.

The scrapyard itself was nothing worth noting: just a fairly large space surrounded by a chainlink fence, with a bunch of rusty cars and thrown-out junk piled atop one another to form small hills of scrap metal. However, it was the raucous barking of dogs that caught our attention. Priscilla and I drew our weapons and aimed them towards where the sound was coming from, but we hesitated as two perfectly healthy and not-at-all undead Dobermans came running towards us.

They growled at us for a moment before gazing at Priscilla, and then they seemed to relax at the sight. I couldn't blame them — I grew calmer just looking at her myself, after all. I think that was part of the reason why Sonnac assigned her to watch out for me.

For her part, Priscilla's face broke into a smile, and releasing the hand not on the shotgun's grip, she bent down on one knee with an extended hand. The two dogs leaned forward to sniff it, and I was just starting to get worried when they started licking at her hand. "Aw… Aren't you two the cutest little things? Yes, you are! Yes, you are! Don't you agree, Chase?"

I considered the dogs to be _cute_ the same way I considered herpes to be advantageous to my health, but before I could voice this thought, a man's strong yell then interrupted Priscilla's cooing baby talk. "Tango! Cash! Down, boys! I said down!"

We looked up to see a redneck in greasy overalls and a red baseball cap worn backwards coming towards us. A pair of goggles were strapped to his forehead, exposing eyes on his handlebar-mustached face that held a gleam of something that could've been either genius or madness and quite possibly both. The line separating the two does get _very_ blurry at times, y'know. "Well, well, well! Looks like we got ourselves visitors, boys, and these two are breathing! Come in, come in, 'fore the Frankies and Smurfs catch us."

"Alright, boys, come on…" Priscilla ushered the dogs as she stood up, and they trotted off after her, tails wagging, while the redneck stared at the trio with a weird look on his face.

"Huh… Funny how quick they've taken to her. Usually, they're mean sumbitches. Sooner bite a chunk off your B-U-T as look at you. Girl'll probably be okay, though, but you'd probably be better off not making eye contact, particularly with Cash there, the one right there to her right. He don't much care for that, and he's the friendly one." Edgar said before chuckling to himself. "Anyways, name's Edgar. What's yours, kid?"

"Chase, and that's Priscilla over there." I answered as we watched Priscilla and the dogs. Then, the dog to Priscilla's left suddenly lunged at something lying on the ground with lightning speed, and I belatedly remembered Danny's warning to bring lots and lots of biscuits. Unfortunately, I didn't have any on me, and I doubted that Tango and Cash would take kindly to the granola bars and trail mix I had packed in my bag.

"Hey! Tango! Leave that arm alone! It's infected! Fucking dumb motherfucker…" Edgar immediately scolded his dog, and then Cash then took his turn to sniff at another zombie limb on the ground. Priscilla was ready this time, however, and she held the dog back by its collar one-handed, forcing it onto his hind legs before he got the message and got back down on all fours.

"Jaysus Christ on a bicycle, fuckers got a taste for Frankies!" Edgar exclaimed. "Dogs been keepin' the yard clean. The goddamn Frankensteins get spooken by 'em. Those who don't get spooked, they get torn into tiny li'l pieces. Even I get sick of watching 'em go at it, and I've seen some sick shit in my life."

"You mean the zombies and the sea monsters attacking the town, right?" I asked, and Edgar nodded.

"Yep. I call 'em Frankensteins on account of the movie, see? Dead men walking, get it? And the Smurfs? Big blue bastards with spikes and claws, and those walkin' brains, runnin' the whole fuckin' freak show. Jeez." Edgar said, rubbing the back of his head, as I nodded.

"Not that it made much of a difference 'round here. Town was filled with vermin and whores and devil worshipers long before that fog rolled in. Sure, you got your survivors back at the sheriff's office. That Bannerman lady, Andy… and that big guy, the outsider, with the bike — wa-what's his name? Elk? Deer?"

"Moose?" I suggested, and Edgar shrugged his bare shoulders before he continued rambling.

"Eh, who gives a shit? Then there's Hawthorne, the pastor, that's not a man you should trust, let me tell you that. He's got skeletors in his wardrobe. I'm telling ya, I'm telling ya the truth. And that gypsy fortune teller, if she's still alive, the harlot. Never slept with me, he he, but she slept with half the town though, 'cluding the shrink — y'know, the sheriff's husband. Bannerman, hell. As for Norma, she's awright, but… I feel a whole lot safer out here alone with my hounds."

"You seem to be taking the situation pretty well." I remarked as I looked around the scrapyard after climbing over the defenses through a gap. Like pretty much everyone we've met so far, Edgar had holed himself up inside his stronghold with improvised barricades made of whatever junk he could get his hands on: chainlink, rusty cars, broken fridges, and the bodies of the slain Frankies and Smurfs speared through some metal poles sharpened to wicked points.

"It's not the first time we've had an incident 'round these parts, now. I seen things, bad things, slimy things." Edgar said, staring off into the distance, the crazed (brilliant?) gleam in his eyes replaced by the dullness of reminiscence. "Things with a hundred sharp teeth, a thousand black eyes, and terrible thoughts that chew and claw their way into your brain so that it hurts like a motherfucker and makes your nose bleed and gives you terrible nightmares. And they stay there. They never, ever leave you."

Okay, that's it: there's definitely something in the water and air on Solomon Island, and I'm not just talking about the draug or the fog. "So, uh… You grew up around here?"

"Yup. I'm a gen-u-ine local, grew up right here on Solomon Island, just south of town, at the Overlook Motel. Used to be nice down there. Red oaks in the forest, beautiful ocean view…" Edgar said wistfully. "The place is all boarded up these days, been that way since those guests just up and vanished, and those lights and knocking sounds at night… Screams…

"Word of mouth got around, people stopped comin' and we had to shut down. By that point, my mama'd had enough, what with Pa dying n' all, and then Henry and… and Tom Dexter. So she left for Florida, said I had to fend for my own from now on. At least I had the scrapyard. Been runnin' that ever since.

"Everyone always told me I'd never amount to much, everyone 'cept my mama and Tom. Tom Dexter's his name. Now he believed in me. Tom always believed in me. Then he died, and I had nuthin'. Nuthin' but his memories inside my brain. And the yard. Of course I had the yard and my dogs. And my projects. I always got my projects. Like this fine lady here."

Edgar affectionately patted said "lady," which turned out to be a wheelless school bus suspended on some cinderblocks: chipped and faded yellow paint, shattered windows, and torn-up seats with enough pieces of chewed bubblegum stuck beneath them to glue Humpty Dumpty back together again.

The words "_ZOMBIE WASTER_" was spray-painted in red onto one side, with some of the letters reversed, but what caught my attention was the written note duct-taped onto the bus's stop sign: _Tango &amp; Cash — 14 frankies, 14 smurfs in 10 minutes. _"So you're… fixing up a bus?"

"Yup. She's a real beaut, ain't she? All dressed up and nowhere to go. And she's gettin' restless. She's the only ticket off the island." Edgar said proudly. He then gave me a strange look, as if I had just said that the only way off this island was to create a portal by sacrificing thirty virgins and a Blu-ray copy of _The Lion King _to Satan. "What, didja think you could just walk everyone out of here, across the bridge and through the fog, back to silly-vie-stations?"

"If you mean civilization, than yeah." I answered with a perfectly straight face. "I don't think you can get out the way Priscilla and I came in, though. She told me it gets… _messy _when someone tries to get in without the right, uh… _qualifications_. Like, frothing-at-the-mouth-while-screaming-gibberish-about-unicorns-and-Paul-Bunyan messy."

There was a pause, and then Edgar began guffawing so hard, he actually folded forward, forcing him to support himself by grabbing his knees. "That's funny! That's hi-_larious_! That's pure comedy gold! Ever thought about doin' standup on one of 'em TV shows?"

"Yeah, it's a real knee-slapper, am I right?" I said, grinning, though also a bit sad that he'd never know just how truthful I was being towards him with those words. "But anyway, do you plan to take anyone off the island with you back to silly-vie-station?"

"Sure — I got a list for my bus. It's a short list for a short bus." Edgar answered as he tapped his head with a greasy index finger. He then giggled at his own joke. "Goddamn, I'm funny. It's got me on top, of course, then my dogs. Norma, I mean, Mrs. Creed, she's on there. Andy, if he asks nicely, with politeness. The Widow Franklin, she's welcome to have a seat. Eh, the injun fella — Red — yeah maybe him too.

"Are Priscilla and I on the list? Y'know, in case we can't get back out the way we came in?" I asked.

"Sure, whatever." Edgar said with a shrug as he glanced over at where Priscilla was cooing over Tango and Cash. "The rest of those fuckers back in town? Devil worshippers, whores, liars and cheaters! They can watch the rest of us roll outta here, wavin' our handkerchiefs and blowin' exhaust up their tight assholes, over the bridge and through the fog.

"They can rot in here until the Day o' Judgement, until the day o' Exodus, and they gonna be sorry for treatin' me the way they did, callin' me a retard a-and badmouthin' my mama. Gawd bless her soul. They're gonna pay for what happened to Tom Dexter, I'll tell ya that too, I swear on my life."

"Hush now, baby girl. Hush now. We'll get you sorted, I promise." Edgar then said in a soft, loving voice towards the bus as he patted it on its side. Then turning to me, he said, "Anyways, mind covering for my boys so they can take a breather with that Pre-silly girl? I gotta get me some work done on the short-bus from hell right here. We got ourselves a deal?"

"Deal. And I bet I can beat your dogs' kill count too, while I'm at it." I said as I pointed to the note taped to the side of the bus.

Edgar snorted as he shook my proffered hand. "If you think you can beat my boys at what they do best, you got another thing comin'. If you still wanna try, though, then mind that you keep the noise down. Tango and Cash are the sensitive types, you know… but I reckon they'll be happy to pick through the pieces after.

"Hell, I'll even give you cash if you can beat 'em at their own game — and I don't mean my dog. A Benjamin Franklin, too — not that it'll do ya much good here. 'Course, that'll never happen, 'less some Frankies and Smurfs come at us like that one movie with the Spartans and Persians at Thermopylae… 300, right?"

I barely had time to register my surprise at Edgar actually pronouncing the word Thermopylae correctly before the sounds of Frankies and Smurfs groaning heralded the arrival of an oncoming horde some distance away. As the horde split into two to form a vanguard and rearguard, I could see that its rearguard was being led by one of the giant, lumbering Smurf warmongers Priscilla and I had fought earlier.

Checking my handgun to see if it was loaded, I then turned my head to look over my shoulder, and I could see Priscilla scurrying to get ready. Closer to me, I could hear Edgar swear from behind me. "Shit, looks like I'm gonna be short a hundred…"

* * *

Electricity crackled on my skin as I thrust my hand forward towards the nearest Frankie running towards the barricade, and as the lightning finished desiccating it, it then jumped to the nearest target to begin frying anew. As my spell finished its work on the fourth Frankie, I took aim with my Beretta at another one closing in on me. With a single squeeze of the trigger, the Frankie fell dead with a bullet hole in the middle of its forehead. Five down, ten more to go.

The Smurfs surged forward ahead of their undead compatriots in the vanguard, and for them, I took careful aim with my Beretta to make the most out of my ammo. Three of the five, I managed to take down with shots to the head, but I missed my mark on the remaining two. They staggered for a moment as the bullets struck them in the chest, but they recovered quickly and managed to continue their mad charge towards the scrapyard.

Luckily, Priscilla's shotgun made up for my pistol's relative lack of stopping power, and the two Smurfs went down by buckshot, their flesh torn apart irreparably by the lead shot. Over on their section of the barricade, Edgar and his boys were holding up quite well. While their owner smashed the heads of the Frankies that had impaled themselves on the stakes poking out of the barricade with a tire iron, Tango and Cash tore apart the loners who managed to climb over the barricade like lions thrice their size.

One of the heavier-set Smurfs with clubs for arms managed to get a bit too close than I would've like, so I responded with a stream of blue sparks to its face. It roared in pain as it backed away from the hose of heat spraying it in its fearsome visage, and as I ended its misery with a bullet to its brain, another Smurf came charging towards me, its spear-arm ready to be stained with blood.

Perhaps the sight of the screaming Smurf so close to him would've frightened the Chase Mercer from days past, but the Chase Mercer of the present forced himself to calm down and keep his wits about himself so that he could execute the Mozambique Drill to stop his attacker.

I hardly flinched as the Smurf's blood splattered all over me, and firing off the last three bullets, I reloaded my weapon as three zombies fell dead. The rearguard was just beginning to near the barricade, and the Smurf warmonger leading them roared its challenge towards the puny humans and dogs at the barricade. There were too many of them for us to handle with just guns and magic, so after picking off a few more of the Frankies and Smurfs, I resorted to heavier firepower. "Grenade!"

Priming one of the pipe bombs in my jacket with a push of the button, I then hurled my improvised explosive towards the oncoming horde. We then ducked behind the barricades as the pipe bomb exploded, and when I peeked out, I was pleased to see that the pipe bomb had killed the Frankies and Smurfs within seventeen feet of its blast radius, while severely injuring the other monsters beyond that within fifty feet. Looks like Edgar now owed me a hundred bucks.

Celebrating my victory could wait, though, as we still had a Smurf warmonger to worry about, along with the remnants of the horde's rearguard. Holstering my Beretta, I began charging up anima within my arms for a new spell. As I thrust my hands forward, the two blue fireballs in my hands launched themselves at the Smurf warmonger's head, fusing themselves together midair to form a bigger one that exploded upon contact with the giant Smurf's face. It roared in pain as it fell backwards like Goliath, and Priscilla seized her chance to take out the rest of the attacking monsters with her shotgun.

As the Smurf warmonger got up, we could see that its already-ugly face was in a right state. Most of the blue flesh covering its skeletal head had been burnt to a crisp, and as it swung around blindly towards us, Priscilla took aim with her shotgun. With a single bang, the Smurf warmonger fell backwards, dead from a saboted shotgun slug breaking through its skull before proceeding to rip through its brain. I whistled in appreciation as the Smurf landed with a loud thud. With the target flailing around as it did, even I wasn't sure I could pull the shot off. "Nice shootin', partner! That was…"

I fell silent as I caught sight of the look Priscilla was giving me, and it was amazing how much she resembled Mom whenever she's about to give a me a lecture about doing drugs, having premarital sex, taking cookies from the jar without permission, listening to the Journey haters, etc. Hell, she even sounded like Mom too. "Chase, just where did you get a pipe bomb?"

* * *

_It required the reallocation of resources, but I've finally deciphered what the man in the scrapyard was saying. Well, most of it. The Queen's English has never been so mishandled._

_I'm not certain if we've preserved anything of value — the bus perhaps? — or simply exercised our tactics. Regardless, defending a perimeter is a skill that must be mastered. The way things are headed, we may one day have to apply these lessons to preserving Temple Hall from the rabble in Darkside._

_Heaven forbid._

_R. Sonnac_


	19. Ellis Hill

"So have you noticed anything strange happen during the fog, besides the… Frankies and Smurfs?"

It was a hundred-dollars poorer Edgar that shrugged as he reached into his pockets and pulled out a little piece of folded paper stained with machine oil. "Nah, me and my boys've been too busy keepin' the damn Frankies and Smurfs away, but if it helps, I've got all the shit I've heard written down right here on this li'l piece o' paper."

Priscilla unfolded the note, and I leaned in next to her so I could see better. While the note was badly misspelled, and the times logged were vague at best ("dark," "real dark," and "dark like the devil when he's drunk" aren't exactly very specific), one thing caught our eyes. According to Edgar's "Scrapyard Securitee Log," there had been gunshots coming from the "air-o-port," and when asked about it, Edgar said, "Yeah, someone's holed up in there for sure. Bet Tango can sniff 'em out. Why don't you two do us all a favor and take him with you to check it out?"

That was how we ended up accompanied by a dog on our trip to Kingsmouth Municipal Airport, and Tango led the way across the runway as we followed close behind with our guns at the ready. Though Tango was sidetracked a few times by other, more interesting scents, we finally arrived at a building on the outskirts of the airport. It was small, barely more than a shack or shed meant to store the airport's extra plane parts and supplies. A pickup truck was parked right outside, and Tango began barking at the door. Petting Tango on the head as she passed by, Priscilla then knocked on the rickety sheet of metal that acted as a door. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"

There was a brief pause, and then the door open to reveal a heavily-built dark-skinned man in a mechanic's uniform, a Glock pistol in his hand. He stared us down for a moment before speaking, and I noticed that the name "Ellis Hill" was sewn above his breast pocket.

"Hmm… Goddamn… Thought you might be one of them…" The man said as he cautiously lowered his gun and switched the safety on, and we did the same with our own weapons. "Better be more careful… Accidents can happen when you sneak up on a man…" As we entered the building, Ellis then turned around held out his hand towards me. "Put it there…"

"The name's Chase, and that's Priscilla over there with Tango the dog. Nice to meet you… Ellis…" I answered as I shook his hand, and Ellis nodded as he let go of mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he had a radio sitting on a table in the corner, and that it was hooked up to the electrical outlet in the wall. Nearby was a shovel caked with fresh dirt and something rusty red that looked to me like… dried blood? I did my best to hide the sudden feeling of discomfort I felt at the sight of the shovel as Ellis spoke.

"Nice to meet you both, though I feel like I should tell you that a man's gotta guard his handshake. Gives away a lot of a person's soul, and I'm not talking about that palm-reading shit. You shake a person's hand, you get a sense of their worth — their past and present."

"So what did you get from me?" I asked, and Ellis regarded us for a moment before answering my question carefully.

"I saw a young man who's just gotten blood on his hands for the first time — a young man who got only a glimpse of the abyss. A glimpse which shook him up real bad."

"That sounds about right…" I admitted with a sigh as I stared down at my hands, and Ellis nodded understandingly as he raised his callused palms for us to see.

"See the wear on these? Metalworking hands… for fixing things up… or breaking them, _real_ slow. No secrets — all in plain sight. More than you can say for this island." Ellis said. "You? You got a chef's hands. See that callus on your finger? Probably from holding a kitchen knife, right?"

I nodded, and Ellis then sighed as he turned around and stared out the window of his hideout. "You got the back and a stomach for digging deep… all manner of shit comes out… But nothing I haven't seen the likes of in my line of work. You're thinking there's nothing dangerous about what I do. You'd be wrong. I can tell you all about what people try to hide behind a coat of white paint."

The single lightbulb that illuminated the building began to flicker, and Ellis spared it a glance before speaking up again. "Generator's been acting up, which is fine during the day, but at night… They get bolder when the lights are out, the sea beasts… and my aim gets worse… Makes it harder to tell friend from foe… I think it's in everybody's best interest if those runway lights stay on."

"Agreed." Priscilla and I both said at the same time, and Ellis nodded as he brought out what appeared to be the rolled-up plans for the airport's drainage system. He then unrolled the blueprints and pointed at different spots marked on the map with black Sharpie. "You two are gonna have to check out the wiring here, here, here, and here."

"You're not coming with us?" Priscilla asked, and Ellis shook his head.

"I'm a mechanic, first and foremost, not a soldier. Sure, I can handle this pistol well enough, but…"

"That's alright, we understand." Priscilla said as she petted Tango on the head. "Got a piece of paper we can borrow?"

Within a minute, Priscilla had dashed off a quick note to Edgar telling him about Ellis, and Tango was sent back to the scrapyard with the paper folded and tucked under his collar. As the two of us walked out into the runway, I asked Priscilla, "So what'd you think of Ellis?"

"He's definitely a liar." Priscilla answered. "You heard what he said, and you saw that radio on the table, right? I highly doubt he was using it to listen to the Top 40, and he was _very _familiar with that Glock of his."

"You think he might be trying to contact someone by radio, and that he set us up to do his dirty work for him?" I asked, and Priscilla nodded.

"If we restore the generator, his message will have a better chance of getting through. For now, we'll help him out — we'll both benefit from making the runway lights more reliable. With that in mind, here's the plan — we'll split up and investigate the airport. I'll go fix the wires in the sewers, and you try and find whatever you can about Beaumont or Ellis."

I took a deep breath before answering with a nod. "Alright, sounds good. You should get going — I'll be fine on my own."

With that, Priscilla nodded reluctantly and readied her shotgun before racing off and leaving me to do my part. Drawing my own weapon and switching off the safety, I checked to make sure that a round was loaded inside the Beretta's chamber. Seeing that there was a cartridge chambered inside, I nodded in satisfaction before heading off towards the nearest of the airport's two hangars.

* * *

The hangar was dark as I entered the building, and I made sure to keep my gun at the ready as my flashlight roved, looking for Beaumont's notes. As my flashlight illuminated the outline of the Cessna plane in the middle of the hangar, the light landed on the surface of a wooden table with some papers on it in the corner of the hangar. "Oh, what's this?"

Shining my flashlight on the documents, I began searching through them for any clue to Beaumont's plans. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to turn up anything useful except for a map of Solomon Island. One spot on the map, located outside of Kingsmouth town, was marked with a red circle, and I figured that would be our best shot at finding Beaumont.

Taking a photo of the map with my phone, I then put the folded-up physical copy in my pocket before sending my report to Sonnac, complete with the pictures of all the stuff Priscilla and I had found so far. Barely a few minutes after I had sent my report, I froze as my phone began to ring, and I looked at the caller ID to see that Sonnac had called me back. Huh. Weird. He always texted us before, so I wondered what drove him to actually call us. "Hello, sir?"

"I wish to speak to you about your reports on the situation, Mr. Mercer." Sonnac's smooth voice said. "You and Miss Ross have shown admirable work so far on unravelling the mysteries of Solomon Island. We appear to be dealing with a sorcerer of some stature in possession of a powerful weapon. Our augurs are attempting to get a read on the sword and its current owner. It's proving disconcertingly difficult, but this artifact is of great value to us, and not just as a key to whatever it is Beaumont is looking for.

"We will need you to pick up the trail as soon as possible, but caution is advised. This is a dangerous man you're dealing with, and we do not want you two running into a situation you are ill-suited to handle."

"Understood, sir. I'll inform Priscilla when I see her." I answered. "While we're at it, could you please have someone look into a mechanic at Kingsmouth Municipal Airport by the name of Ellis Hill? There's a man here along with us claiming to be him, but he's made us suspicious of his true identity."

"Very well, Mr. Mercer. I'll notify our intelligence division straightaway." Sonnac answered as he ended the phone call. I sighed as I was taken back to the home screen of my phone, where I noticed I had gotten a new text from Priscilla. Upon checking it, I saw that she had sent me a lovely picture of a dead and beaten body, as well as a message from Priscilla: _This isn't the work of a Frankie or Smurf. Investigate._

"Well, well, well, _Ellis_…" I remarked as I pocketed my phone. "Looks like we've got a case of mistaken identity here. Let's see what we can dig up…"

* * *

My first stop for the investigation was the truck parked just outside where "Ellis" was hiding out. The truck appeared to be locked, but when I tugged on the handle of the driver's door, I found out that it was unlocked. How careless. From there it was easy enough to slip inside and close the door discreetly, and I was grateful for the tinted windows that kept me hidden from view as I fiddled with the still-on GPS.

"Gotcha!" I said to myself quietly as I snapped a photo of the route the GPS's history had shown me. Sneaking out of the truck's other side, I sent a quick text to Priscilla with the photo of the GPS before leaving the airport. Although the minutes I spent avoiding the Frankies and Smurfs that prowled the outskirts of Kingsmouth town was tense, it was an easy enough task, as their senses were fairly dull.

Soon, I came across a pile of fresh dirt near the base of a tree, and the smell coming from the dirt was foul, like rotting flesh. The dirt was soon cleared away to reveal a decaying corpse wearing a mechanic's uniform like the one the "Ellis" back at the airport was wearing. The name "Ellis Hill" was stitched onto the breast pocket of the uniform's jacket. The different picture on the ID in the uniform's breast pocket only confirmed what Priscilla and I had suspected: that the "Ellis" at the airport had killed the real one to steal his identity.

As I groped inside the other pockets of Ellis Hill's body, I felt my hand touch what felt like paper. "Hello, what's this?"

Fishing out the torn piece of paper from the real Ellis's pocket, I unfolded the note and began to read.

* * *

_I didn't have to write this. Hell, the sailors would never approve. But where I come from, you put a man in the ground, you owe him an explanation for why. Even if it is just a note written on a piece of paper that you tore from a notebook you found in said dead man's pocket. It's about respect. My mama always taught me how important that was._

_Ellis Hill, I didn't know you. Fact is, the only things I knew about you were your job and your address. In a pinch, I could've phoned home and gotten any details I'd wanted - your habits, the names of your pets, your first love… anything. We may not be as connected as our landlocked brethren, but when you make a living selling information - you get really good about harvesting it._

_It's funny though, in this day and age, how details can get lost in the noise. Take us. You were the new engineer at the airport and your uniform was the only one I even had the slightest chance of fitting into. The only guy who was within the age bracket I could pull off. I was even ready for the beard — had a story all prepared in my mind about my first shave in years. And in all that preparation, all that time I spent getting ready to take over your identity; nobody ever mentioned you were a white boy._

_Ellis, let me tell you how I chuckled the first time I saw you through my binoculars. I didn't know whether to be proud or furious. On the one hand, it says a lot about progress in the world that nobody even thinks that's an important detail. Jesse Jackson would be proud._

_On the other hand it made my job a lot harder. A white man turning into a black man? At some point in the process of interviewing for you new job, somebody local must have met you._

_I've never been big on worrying though. I figured that would be a river I would cross when I came to it._

_What happened next? Well you know. I waited for you on the road to the airport. Waved you down in your rust truck. Asked you for help._

_I've always had strong hands but strength has never been the most important thing in a strangling. Endurance counts too. You gotta hold yourself steady and count the beats. You gotta be like a mast in a storm, moving with the struggles — bending but never breaking._

_You struggled, I remember. Drumming your heels against the door of the truck, fists and elbows flailing. I could see it on your face, that feeling of helplessness. You knew what was coming, and you knew you didn't have the power to stop it. Your eyes… they wanted to know why. The worst thing about strangling, Ellis, is that it ain't nothing like Hollywood makes it out to be. You see, the first thing people do is pass out. That makes them easier to manage. But if you stop strangling, they start breathing again. The body wants to live. I respect that._

_There is this period of silence, when nobody is fighting back and I'm just a man crushing the life out of your body. It takes minutes, but it feels like hours. Gives a man time to think, to reflect. It's not about strength any more, but mental toughness._

_You gotta have a powerful belief or a powerful anger to get through that._

_I was never angry with you, Ellis. But I am a believer. I believe that you needed to die so that I could get on with my business here._

_I nursed you until it was over and then I threw you in the back of the truck and got to burying you. I've seen enough in this dark world to know that you might come back. If you do, I can't say I would want to meet you. But I wrote this so you know how things stand._

_There's a fog rolling over Solomon Island. Dark days are coming._

_I might have done you a favor._

* * *

My hands were sweaty and shaking by the time I finished reading. What kind of creepy fucker writes a love letter to the person they killed, describing their _death_? I thought people like those only existed in fiction. Wiping my hands dry with my jacket, I reached for my phone to call Sonnac. As he picked up the phone, I began speaking in a breathless tone. "Sir? I've found Ellis Hill — the real one."

I then went on to explain (read: ramble) about what I had found out about Not-Ellis. Fortunately for me, Sonnac was a good and patient listener, and he waited until I was done babbling before commenting. "Well, that was disturbing. Our organization doesn't pretend to be spotless — our colors include red for a reason — but we don't derive sick fascination from describing the details of a man's death.

"As for the real Ellis Hill, he was a widowed aviation mechanic. He played baseball in college. That appears to have been the highlight of his life.

"We know far less about the man pretending to be Ellis Hill. We know he is a murderer who likes to get his hands dirty. He hasn't demonstrated even a cursory knowledge of aviation, though he is adept at sending encrypted signals out to sea.

"If I were a betting man, I would say it smells Phoenician. They are rudderless racketeers — and likely here to smuggle more than just lobster off the island. When the reckoning comes for that monster, we'll let you handle the dispensation of justice."

I swallowed nervously as I wiped the sweat off my brow before answering with a choked voice. "Yes, sir."

As Sonnac ended the phone call, I leaned against the tree Ellis had been buried by, and closing my eyes to try and shut out the emotion welling up within me, I sighed deeply. As the air escaped from my nostrils, I opened my eyes again, and anger began to fill my insides, consuming my very being. It wasn't the kind of rage that roared like a fiery inferno and drove you to recklessness — in fact, the anger I felt wasn't like that at all.

It was the kind of righteous anger that _chilled_ — the kind that burned away all other emotion so that only the cold, clearheaded, calculating part of you was left to take charge. I then lifted my Beretta to check if the chamber had a round inside, and it did. Good. I was going to need it.

* * *

"Come on, come on, you piece of junk… We got business to be getting on with, you and I…" Not-Ellis muttered to the radio as he banged softly on it with his fist, though I doubted percussive maintenance would work. He then caught sight of me from out of the corner of his eye, and in a split second, we had our weapons at the ready.

I stared down the tritium-insert sights of my Beretta at Not-Ellis, who had his Louisville slugger ready to swing. The tableau lasted for one tense second before Not-Ellis lowered his bat, ending the Mexican standoff. "You came in quiet. Shit. My senses are getting dulled in here. Got used to the creeps outside. They don't have a light touch, and neither do I."

Ignoring the urge not to do so in the presence of a known murderer, I switched on my gun's safety in order to avoid accidental fire as I holstered, but I continued to watch Not-Ellis and his baseball bat warily. "So where's the girl you were with?"

"On her own. She'll be fine — she's a tough girl." I answered, and Not-Ellis nodded as he swung his bat around experimentally, testing its weight.

"I've got no doubt about that. Cracking dead heads keeps my swing in shape and the cabin fever at bay. Man gotta be comfortable with scant company — with keeping to himself." Not-Ellis said. He then paused for a moment, and he gave me the once-over again before continuing. "Say, you come from town? Any reception out there? Police, CB? Even that LPFM gospel channel, I ain't choosy."

"Nah, just dead air, from what I know." I answered truthfully. Even someone like him deserved that much, at least.

Not-Ellis sighed disappointedly as he planted his bat onto the concrete floor of the hangar. "This place is off the radar. So here I am, sitting with my thumb up my ass, tuning static."

The radio then chose to come to life at the moment, but Not-Ellis was quick to switch it off before I could hear anything sensitive, giving me a look as he did so. "Like I said. Dead. Air. Don't waste your time out at the mast. It ain't the kind of equipment you can patch up with duct tape and a wire hanger. No, you just keep on with whatever you gotta do. Elsewhere."

"Of course." I answered as I drew my gun. Before Not-Ellis could stop me, I had already switched off the Beretta's safety before moving it to the trigger. Bang. Bang. Bang.

I lowered my smoking pistol as Not-Ellis lay dead on the floor, and the his mechanic's uniform were stained a dark red from his wounds — two shots to the chest, and one to his head. A perfectly-executed Mozambique Drill, if I do say so myself. "There's a fog rolling over Solomon Island, y'know. Dark days are coming. I might have done you a favor."


	20. Dead Air

After propping Not-Ellis up against the wall and shutting his eyelids with my fingers, I sat against the wall of the shack we were in in order to think about what it was like for me to kill him, as well as Joe Slater. They had been easy decisions for me to make — almost too easy, in fact. No emotion, no thought of chickening out at the last second had entered my mind as I pulled the trigger. It was disturbing, really, how much someone could change within the space of a day. Even though it had only just been half a day since we left London, it felt like an eternity had passed to me.

The buzz of my phone ringing then interrupted my thoughts, and bringing out of my pocket, I checked the caller ID to see that I had gotten a call from Priscilla. "Hey, how's everything going on your end?"

"Well, I checked out the radio mast like you asked, and I'm guessing we're going to need a conductor and an amplifier to fix it, as well as some adhesive to put it all together. I'm thinking maybe a vacuum tube, a wire hanger, and some duct tape will do."

"That's it? Alright, you got it — I'll try and see what I can find. I'll find the mast and meet you there." I answered. As Priscilla ended the call, I snorted to myself as I put away my phone and glanced at Not-Ellis's body. "Hear that, Ellis? It looks like this _is _equipment we can patch up with duct tape and a wire hanger."

The shack that Ellis had holed himself up in had quite a few odds and ends in it, so the main difficulty came from obtaining what Priscilla needed to jury-rig the radio mast from the piles of junk they were scattered in without causing a veritable avalanche of airport supplies. Besides what she needed, I also found a handheld radio as well as some batteries to power it in a fortunate stroke of serendipity. Sure, I was nearly crushed by a pile of scrap metal and plywood when I removed it from its place between a cinderblock and a heavy toolbox, but it was totally worth it. One man's junk is another man's treasure, as they say.

After inserting the batteries checking to see that the radio was in working order, which it was, I carried the supplies over to the control tower, where Priscilla was waiting.

Having no engineering experience myself, I was happy to leave fixing the radio mast to Priscilla so I could reload my gun's magazines with more bullets. As I loaded a fresh magazine into my Beretta, I looked up to see Priscilla stepping back from the mast to scrutinize her work. "Is it ready to go, Priscilla?"

She nodded, and we brought our smart phones out to record what we heard. The earlier static of our handheld radio had given way to a low drone now that the reception had been fixed, and a series of rapid-fire pings began to ring out, like a submarine radar in the movies or something like that. Then there was silence, save for the low drone coming over the radio. "…What the heck did we just listen to?"

"Morse code, I think." Priscilla answered, pursing her lips as she pulled out her smart phone and opened up the app store. A few minutes and many, many tries later, we managed to decode the message meant for Not-Ellis with the help of the new app on Priscilla's phone.

_drop location 712 536._

"Looks like Ellis was waiting for something to be dropped off at these coordinates." Priscilla remarked as she began punching in the coordinates on her smart phone. "But who or what is he waiting for…?"

"I dunno about the what, but Sonnac and I have a pretty good guess as to the who." I answered. "We found out that the fake Ellis has ties to the Phoenicians, and that he murdered the original Ellis to take his place." _And then I murdered him in turn._

"So what's the plan?" I asked, putting down the emotion bubbling uncomfortably in my stomach, and Priscilla thought a moment, pursing her lips as she did so before answering.

"I'll tell Sonnac that we're intercepting whatever the Phoenicians are dropping off. Who knows? Whatever we find could be useful in our search for Beaumont and his sword…"

* * *

As we neared the location of the airdrop, I could smell the salt of the sea and hear the sound of helicopter blades chopping through the air like giant knives twirling about. Following Priscilla's lead, I dropped low to the ground and began crawling on my elbows and knees to remain hidden in the beachgrass growing in the sand.

I risked a glance up into the sky to see an unmarked black helicopter hovering in the sky above a spot in the beach's lower areas, which was surrounded on three sides by short,rocky cliffs. We watched as the helicopter lowered itself towards the sand as close as possible.

As the chopper hovered above the sand, the doors were opened to reveal a large wooden crate, as well as three men in black-and-purple wetsuits, whose faces were obscured by black masks. One of them was armed with a submachine gun, and he stood guard as the two unarmed men began pushing against the crate. Priscilla and I kept our heads to avoid being spotted, and we could hear the crate land unceremoniously onto the sand with a muffled thud.

We waited until the helicopter had shut its doors and flew away, and only then did Priscilla give me the nod. Getting back up onto our feet, we both hurried to get to where the crate had been dropped off.

Scrambling down the beach closer to sea level, we cautiously drew our guns as we neared the crate. As we drew closer and closer to the box, something seem to be rumbling from within the container, and we began backing away to a safe distance.

The wood of the container's face suddenly cracked with an ugly sound. and we shielded ourselves just in time to block the splinters that were heading our way from the crate shattering. We lowered our arms to see burning orange eyes like hot coals stare back at us from amidst the wreckage of the broken crate.

Towering above the splintered remains of its wooden prison was some kind of monstrous giant, with dark skin like obsidian that seemed both tough and thick as well as strangely viscous, as if a kid had tried to make a man out of black mud. The monster had the whole Incredible Hulk look down pat, with the ragged shorts and rippling arm muscles, but what really got my attention was how _familiar _it was to me. I pressed my lips into a thin line as I racked my brain, trying to figure out where exactly I had seen it before. Realization then struck me like a lightning bolt, and I paled as I was reminded of the vision I had of the Filth in Tokyo, back when I was listening to Father Hobo all those lifetimes ago.

Bringing our guns up to fire, Priscilla and I wasted no time in trying to get as much lead into the Incredibly Filthy Hulk before it could close the gap between us. I swore as my Beretta's slide locked back, exposing the barrel to signify that my gun was out of ammo, and I swapped out the empty magazine for a new one. The beast roared as it charged towards us like a linebacker at the Super Bowl, but it staggered as a blue explosion from my fingertips blasted it in the face. I didn't let up on the firepower as Priscilla loaded more shells into her shotgun, and as the fire from my fingers died down, I saw that the beast's anterior had been charred to a deeper, darker black.

With one final snap of my fingers, the resulting explosion knocked the Incredibly Filthy Hulk onto its back, and it didn't move as it lay there in the sand. I lowered my hand as my adrenaline rush faded, and I felt Priscilla lay a comforting, squeezing hand on my shoulder as we both looked down upon the monster we had just killed. Many thoughts and questions were running through my mind as I gazed upon the beast, but one stood out among the rest. "Just what were the Phoenicians thinking, bringing something like this to Solomon Island?"

"I don't know — at least, not for sure." Priscilla answered as she pursed her lips. "My best guess is that they planned on using it as some kind of… attack dog for whatever they're planning. Let's report to Sonnac about this."

* * *

_Fascinating. You can set your watch by occult mercenaries arriving after an untoward event, and yet I'm alarmed you found them freighting...cargo in. The usual order of business is to frantically ship out every object of power that is not warded down._

_It begs the question: what do they stand to gain from making the situation on Solomon Island worse? You truly have tuned to a signal, to a foreshadowing of a much greater concern. I would advise steeling yourself to anticipate it._

_Once one starts tugging at a loose thread, all manner of unpleasant surprises come out._

_R. Sonnac_


	21. John Wolf

Some time after we had intercepted the Phoenicians' package, Priscilla and I stood outside the house marked on the map carelessly left behind by Beaumont. It was an old dwelling, built Cape Cod style, and its faded whitewash gave it a forlorn, neglected look. A breeze ruffled our hair as we stood outside the front door to the seemingly-abandoned house, and as I closed my eyes, I could hear the magic humming below us. There was definitely something beneath the foundation of this place.

"You sense it too, right?" I asked as I glanced at Priscilla next to me, and she nodded as she stepped forward to take a look around the house. Less than a minute later, we were both staring at a pair of old wooden doors blocking the stairway leading to the house's basement. They creaked loudly as we opened them, and as we slipped inside and closed the doors, we found ourselves in what appeared to be a library.

Fortunately for us, the electric lamps scattered all across the room were still lit, though I had no idea where they were getting their power from. Intricate rugs of scarlet and gold material covered the faded wooden planks of the library's floor, and the dusty shelves were lined with ancient tomes, some of which were booby-trapped, judging by the ominous music coming from them that sounded suspiciously like the theme of _Jaws_.

The whole place gave me the creeps, as if someone or something was watching us from the shadows of the bookshelves. Drawing our guns, we proceeded cautiously into the room, on the lookout for any potential threats or any clues to Beaumont's whereabouts.

We tread cautiously through the length of the library, until we ended up in front of what appeared to be a metal vault door. There was cursive script carved into the steel:

_Find Balance,  
Face Death,  
Burn the Past,  
And climb the Pyramid.  
There, at the apex, his eyes will be opened._

On the right side of the vault door, there were unusually-shaped depressions in the solid steel frame. One was in the shape of a shallow circle, and two of them were in the shape of deeper half-domes. Another indentation was shaped like a bird, and the last one went deep into the metal in the shape of a triangle. They were obviously important, and as we made eye contact, I knew Priscilla was thinking the same thing. She then voiced both our thoughts aloud. "Let's split up and start looking."

Priscilla and I went our separate ways as we searched the library for the vault's keys, though our paths soon converged as we both ended up in front of the same wooden display case. Several carved skulls of varying materials were separated from our fingertips by glass, though only one — the metal human skull — glowed with magic when viewed with the sixth sense. The display case was locked, of course, but that didn't pose much of a problem, as Priscilla decided to just punch through the glass.

Priscilla picked up the metal skull from amidst the pieces of shattered glass and handed it to me, and I turned the skull in my hands this way and that to look at the intricate carvings engraved into the silvery metal that stood in for the bone. "Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio — a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy."

Priscilla rolled her eyes as she beckoned for me to follow her. "Come on, Hamlet, let's go find the other keys."

A few minutes later, we returned to the vault door, having collected the rest of the metal symbols needed: a ying-and-yang symbol, a figurine of a bird with its wings outstretched, a pyramid, and finally, a sphere carved to look like an eyeball.

As we pushed the keys into place, they locked in tight with magic. Upon inserting the eyeball, the last piece of the puzzle, the handle of the vault door spun on its own, and the vault door swung open silently. Peering cautiously inside with our flashlights, Priscilla and I were just in time to see the ceiling of the narrow stone passageway collapse with a loud rumble like a thunderstorm.

A growling sound then filled the air as a beast formed from the black fog that rose from the shadows of the fallen rocks. It looked like a giant wolf the color of thunderclouds at night, but with the sharp, black bristles of a giant porcupine. Its blue eyes crackled with electricity as it glared at us with unadulterated killing intent. Priscilla then spoke for us both as it readied itself to pounce. "Oh, this is gonna _suck_…"

* * *

We got out of the guardian's way just in time to avoid getting our faces ripped off by sharp, gnashing teeth, and as it landed nimbly on its feet and rounded towards us, Priscilla and I immediately split up to divide the Big Bad Wolf's attention between us. This thing wasn't like any Big Bad Wolf I had ever fought before.

Unlike the Rakshasa in the Crucible, who were chained and nailed to their posts to render them immobile, and the Frankies and the Smurfs, who were strong but slow enough to be riddled with half a dozen pistol rounds before they could even get into striking distance, this four-legged bruiser moved and struck like lightning, and I had no desire to be shocked by the Big Bad Wolf's electrified claws. The good news was the crackling lightning surrounding its paws gave away its position if we listened, but the bad news was that I could hear it coming up from behind…

I yelped in fear as the Big Bad Wolf crashed into a bookshelf and sent its contents falling onto the floor in an avalanche of yellowed paper and curling leather, but it recovered quickly, and I felt a shiver go up my spine as it stared a hole into the small of my back. I mean, almost literally — if I had stayed in place just a little longer, I wouldn't have been surprised to acquired a huge, gaping hole where my intestines used to be.

Adrenaline coursed through me as I rounded the corner of a bookshelf and ran as fast as I could to avoid becoming monster chow, and from behind me, I heard a shotgun blast and a yelp of pain from the Big Bad Wolf. Now that the Big Bad Wolf was focused on Priscilla, I could focus on counterattacking by emptying my Beretta's magazine into its exposed hide.

However, my salvo didn't seem to faze the Big Bad Wolf at all as it knocked Priscilla onto her back, and I heard it growl and gnash its teeth as it struggled against Priscilla's own monstrous strength to try and sink in something sharp and crackling with electricity.

Discarding my Beretta, I then thrust both my hands forward for lightning to leap off my fingertips and into the Big Bad Wolf's rump, not wanting to risk Priscilla's life by throwing a pipe bomb that would send shrapnel flying in all directions indiscriminately. The Big Bad Wolf yowled in pain as it leapt away from Priscilla, who scrambled to her feet and fired her Benelli again.

As we braced ourselves for another assault, a column of flame then rocketed towards the Big Bad Wolf. Surprised eyes met mine as the vault's guardian howled in pain, and we looked to see that it had been charred to a crisp. It dissipated into ashes and inky shadow as a voice sounded from the shadows. "Goddamn…"

As our adrenaline rushes faded to reveal just how exhausted we were, Priscilla and I looked to see a man in a cowboy hat pocket what looked like a silver Zippo lighter. Fangs and claws that I doubted were entirely from your average lion and bear hung from his throat and ears as earrings and a necklace, and deeply-tanned, well-muscled forearms were exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. He circled around us like a wolf as he spoke. "Well, you're lucky Boone's been keeping tabs on the two of you, and that I got here when I did."

"You know Boone?" I asked, and I then shook my head. "Wait, scratch that — just who the heck are you?"

"The name's John Wolf. I'm Boone's partner." The man answered as he glanced at the guns in our hands. "Next time, do us all a favor and don't go hunting lions with peashooters — know your prey. And watch where you're throwing — you don't want to accidentally burn down the whole savannah.

We both grimaced at that, though I had to admit he had a point. One missed throw, and both us and the Big Bad Wolf would've been kindling. Priscilla spoke then for the both of us. "Yeah, yeah. So what are you and Boone doing out here in Solomon Island, anyway?"

"We've been waiting for something to happen out here." Wolf answered. "It's been in the earth, in the air… It's why Boone and me came out here even before the fog. There's power on Solomon Island, the kind that spreads… Filth — and it's waking up."

Filth. Does that mean the same stuff infecting Tokyo was here? My mind flashed back to Sarah and the others in the subway. Something like that could _not _be allowed to happen twice. As these thoughts ran through my mind, Wolf then knelt down next to the guardian's ashes, and as he scooped some of it up, it fell back onto the floor in a fine black dust. "My friend Jack is fond of saying he's seen the worst of what this world has to offer, but he's dead wrong. That was just the beginning. I always knew worse things were headed our way, and now they've arrived."

Wolf then stood back up and regarded us carefully as he began pacing again. "The man you're chasing carries something powerful and potentially dangerous. I'll do what I can to help, though I lack your particular talents."

He chuckled a little as he snapped his fingers for an orange flame to burst into life above his thumb. It looked barely big enough for a match, let alone a fire mage. "Hell, it took me thirty years of looking to learn how to cast a simple spell. Nope — I get too close to that artifact, it's a bad deal all around. I hear the whispers even now, and I don't have the natural defenses of you Bees. I'm afraid of what it might do to me, and what it might make me do to all of _you_."

It didn't take Albert Einstein's brain to figure out he was talking about the fog over Kingsmouth. "If you don't mind us asking, what do you know about the artifact?"

Wolf sighed before answering. "I've been doing some digging. As far as I can tell, this relic is what brought the fog here, or at least what controls it. Whoever wields it holds the fate of Solomon Island in their hands…"

"We figured as much. Know anything about these tunnels?"

Wolf nodded as he then pointed into the tunnel that had just caved in. "I can't tell you where that tunnel leads, but the Illuminati dug, and dug _deep_ when they ruled this island. It's a network that stretches from Kingsmouth in the east, to the academy in the west."

"Are there any leads you could give us?" Priscilla asked, and Wolf thought a moment before answering.

"I don't know where this tunnel leads, but it's somewhere west of here, near Innsmouth Academy." Wolf then slid a hand back into his pocket. "Here, kid — catch."

My hand shot up to snatch whatever Wolf had tossed me, and I looked to see that it was the silver Zippo lighter from earlier, and that it had a magic circle etched into the chrome. Tapping into my sixth sense, I could tell that it had been enchanted, though I couldn't tell what it did. "Thanks, I guess, but what am I supposed to do with this?"

"It's a magical focus that's been enchanted so that it can use anima stored into it to strengthen any fire spell channeled through it — kind of like an electric guitar's amplifier. If those fireballs you were hurling were any indication, you'll put it to better use than I will."

"Okay, that's pretty cool." I admitted as I looked down at the lighter and remembered how Wolf had incinerated the Big Bad Wolf to death with it. That had been cool. Okay, sure, I was in mortal fear of having my face ripped off to make a nice new doggy bed for the monstrous guardian of the place, but now that I was in the clear, I could see that it was pretty awesome. "What else can it do?"

"You can also wave it around at rock concerts and use it to light cigarettes and pipes, if you ever decide to take up smoking in the future."

"Nice… But I don't feel like getting myself lung cancer anytime soon." Wolf and Priscilla both chuckled at that, and the former turned his back on us to leave. As he got out of sight, I flipped the lighter open, and pouring a bit of my magical energy into it, I flicked my thumb down sharply on the striker wheel to create a roaring plume of blue flame rose about a foot high before going out. "Whoa!"

Pocketing my new weapon, I then turned to Priscilla. "Ready to head west?"

"Of course."


	22. The Rec Center Cannot Hold

Founded and constructed in 1798 — and rebuilt in 1852, 1906 and 1967, after, respectively, a devastating fire, an earthquake, and the opening of a dimensional portal in the elementalism lab — Innsmouth Academy seemed like just your average super-exclusive private school for snobby rich kids situated on Solomon Island. It certainly seemed that way as Priscilla and I looked at the brick buildings of the campus from the broken-down iron gates, but even though I had only been an official part of the secret world for less than a month, I knew better than to just stop at the surface.

According to the intelligence Priscilla and I received from Sonnac, Innsmouth Academy's actually an educational facility for the children of Secret Worlders affiliated with the Illuminati, although the school sometimes admits exceptionally gifted students and faculty from other societies.

It's considered one of the premier occult prep schools of the secret world, and a diploma from Innsmouth Academy opens many doors for a budding magus and occultist — kinda like Hogwarts, if it was real, modernized, and run by the same guys who have Justin Bieber in their pockets. As we walked towards the main building, I briefly wondered what it'd be like to study here as I tuned out the sound of the magic warding the campus, or what remained of it, at least. It was like listening to a old, beat-up CD of a song you like — once really good, now just a mess of scratches and stutters.

Before we could even knock on the door, however, a growl alerted us to danger, and we spun around to see what appeared to be a bunch of creepy-looking flesh dolls slowly surrounding us with their razor sharp claws.

They snarled as I brought out my lighter, and with a flick of my thumb, they leapt backwards at the fire that erupted from the lighter like a flamethrower. Priscilla brought her shotgun up to fire, and with a pull of the Benelli's trigger, two of the pack of puppets went down to buckshot.

The remaining puppets snarled in rage, and as one tried to slip past the fire, I brought my pistol up to fire, and it fell dead with a hole oozing blood in its misshapen head. I then turned my attention back to the other flesh puppets kept at bay by the steady stream of flame.

Using the lighter to fuel and shape my magic was like keeping up a slow jog — I could keep the flame going for a while, but not forever. Luckily for us, they seemed to have instincts of self-preservation that kept them from recklessly endangering their… lives, I suppose is the best word, though not necessarily the right one. Priscilla and I used that to our advantage as we maneuvered ourselves closer to the brick wall of the building to limit the directions our attackers could come from.

By this time, more of the flesh puppets had surrounded us, and I could practically hear the gears grinding as they turned in Priscilla's head, as she prioritized targets and considered the best uses of her limited ammunition. I then chose to make the decision-making process a little easier for her by going on a quick offensive. With another flick of the lighter, several of the flesh dolls erupted into flame with horrendous screams, and the two closest to us seized their chance and charged.

Priscilla opened fire with her shotgun, and the two flesh dolls went down, their torsos pumped full of lead. Another flick of the lighter, and some more puppets went down. At this point, the puppets decided it'd be best to cut their losses and let their prey go, and so with one final death glare, they withdrew to lick their wounds and try again another day.

"Excellent elementalism work, young man, if a bit basic." A voice said, and we turned around to see who had spoken. In front of the doors to the building was a man in his forties or fifties, dressed in a two-piece business suit, with his hands clad in blue latex surgical gloves. "Good evening. I am Hayden Montag, headmaster of Innsmouth Academy."

"My name is Priscilla Ross, and this is Chase Mercer." Priscilla said cautiously as she slung her shotgun away.

"I see. You had best come inside. I'm afraid disposing of your remains would be too onerous at this time." Mr. Montag said as he beckoned us inside the building. Priscilla and I glanced at each other before walking up the steps to get inside. Closing the door behind us, he led us through the entrance hall of Innsmouth Academy, or what remained of it after the fog had rolled in, anyway.

It seemed normal enough for a high school, at first glance, but the more I looked, the more I noticed the little signs that told me that this school wasn't exactly your run-of-the-mill educational facility. The pyramid within the school seal on the blue carpet covering the wooden floor, the distant moans and groans of _something _wandering around the hallways, the ominous stains on the walls… It all added up to the realization that the place was not what it seemed. Kinda like how I saw the world around me after I was recruited.

From the entrance hall, Mr. Montag then led us to one of the classrooms, where two other people were waiting for us expectantly amidst the desks, books, and shelves barricading the windows. "Carter, Miss Usher, meet Miss Ross and Mr. Mercer."

"Ah, you're trailing our mythical weapon of mass destruction then?" The older of the two people in the room asked in a Scottish accent as she looked away from the computer screen. If I had to guess, I'd say that she was in her thirties, dressed in a red business suit and skirt, with her reddish brown hair tied back in a low ponytail.

"How'd you know?" I asked.

"Educated guess." The woman I presumed to be Miss Usher answered as Mr. Montag walked over to the window to gaze outside with his gloved hands behind his back.

"They're not too late, right?" The other person at the computer spoke up in a girl's voice. If she hadn't spoken, I might've mistaken her for a dude, with her short brown hair and hoodie stained rusty red with something I highly doubted was ketchup. She was about my age, maybe a year or two older at the most, and the anima radiating from her was _unbelievable_. It almost deafened me just listening to her magic — electronica with lots of bass that could be heard through the whole dang town, if you're wondering. Though they were no match for Carter's raw power, Mr. Montag and Miss Usher were no slouches, either.

"I sure hope not. I've a reputation to uphold as the only thing that's Scottish and dangerous on the island." Miss Usher sighed before continuing. "I should've called in the cavalry as soon as it turned up, but honestly, it caught me with my metaphysical knickers down. I had no idea what it was."

"It's not like it's your fault, Miss Usher." Carter said. "No one's ever removed anything from the academy before and gotten through the wards. At least, not in one piece."

"Yeah." Priscilla agreed. "This place is — well, _was _— built like a castle. It must've taken some serious thaumaturgical power to break through."

"It still could've gone better…" Miss Usher said with another sigh as she looked down at the floor. She then looked back up at us. "Anyway, I suspect whoever possesses the weapon lacks the knowledge required to use it — and they'll be looking for answers. The Illuminati built this place with secret passages and tunnels out the wazoo. Supposedly, all their records, covering centuries of occult lore, are kept in an archive, but the archive is hidden."

"Wait — the one below the school?" Carter interrupted, and the three of us turned to look at her.

"Below the school?" Miss Usher repeated, and then sighed yet again. "I hate it when I repeat things…"

"So what do you know about it?" I asked Carter, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I-I kind of… _heard_ about this full-on Illuminati vault. Like, the seniors might've tried to crack the lock a few times… or something. You can see through the floorboards in the old block… I heard."

"Ah,_ that_ Illuminati archive…" Mr. Montag said, nodding as he turned to look at us, and Miss Usher stared at him in shock, mouth slightly open. If she didn't shut her trap, she might swallow a bug.

"Tell me you're pulling my leg!"

"No… Well…" Mr. Montag began. "I couldn't discount a sudden manifestation of unconscious telekinesis."

Miss Usher then turned towards me and Priscilla, exasperated. "Well then — there you are. The 'secret' Illuminati archives, lost to the ages."

"Oh no." I monotoned. "However will we find them?"

"We can worry about that later." Priscilla said as she removed the strap of her duffel bag from her shoulder. "Do you mind if we bunker down here for the night with you guys? We've been running around the island all day."

"Of course." Miss Usher said as she gestured to the bare floor. "I'm afraid we haven't much in the way of creature comforts ever since the fog rolled in, but we manage."

"That's fine — we'll eat from our own supply." Priscilla said as she set the duffel bag onto the floor and unzipped it.

As I made headway into the unappetizing pork curry that had both the taste and consistency of cement, I noticed the look on Carter's face. Putting my spoon down, I then reached for one of the ration components in syrup and held it out to her. "Pears? They're one of the few things I can give you without feeling guilty about giving you diarrhea."

"Th-thanks…" Carter said as she took the clear plastic cup containing the syrupy slices of pear, and as she dug in with a coffee stick I gave her, I thought I saw approval in Miss Usher's eyes.

Between bites of curry, I then turned my head to Miss Usher sitting on one of the nearby desks, one whose underside was polka-dotted with hardened wads of chewed, faded pink bubblegum. "So what exactly do you teach here at the school, Miss Usher?"

"I'm the witch-doctor in residence. It's my lot to teach the kids responsibility over the balance of life and death." Miss Usher explained as I crunched the packed crackers between my teeth. "Giving and taking. So this has really pissed the curriculum up a wall."

"It is a great, great setback for us all. Loss of life among the faculty always brings up inconvenient questions." Mr. Montag said solemnly, and we all turned our heads to look at him as Miss Usher spoke again.

"Eh, I appreciate the pep talk, H.J."

"The last time Mr. Montag gave me a pep talk, I have nightmares for the rest of the semester." Carter spoke up helpfully as she set down the empty cup and sticky coffee stick. She must've been ravenous, poor girl.

"So what were those things that attacked us outside the school?" I asked as I ripped the top off a plastic cup of syrupy peach slices.

"Those were some of the students' familiars. They look a fright, but, well… think back to your first shop class project and how they turned out." Miss Usher said.

"I didn't take shop, but I get where you're coming from." I answered as I gestured for Miss Usher to go on as I continued eating.

"Anyway, without the kids around to control them, they're running wild. Eventually they'll go pure bonkers, and things here will go even more pear-shaped. I wish there was a cleaner way to contain them, but—"

"I recommend delivery of a swift, decapitating blow with a spade." Mr. Montag interrupted. "A fire axe has a distressing tendency to rebound from the vertebrae."

"From experience, aye?" Miss Usher asked, an eyebrow raised, and Mr. Montag shrugged nonchalantly as he tugged at his gloves for a better fit on his spider-like hands.

"A teacher is only as good as his tools."

"With the wards of the school down for the count, we're gonna have to secure the place if we want a chance at a decent night's sleep. You guys stay here — Chase and I can handle things on our own." Priscilla said as she set her trash off to the side to pick up her shotgun. As she checked to see if her Benelli was still loaded, I did the same with my Beretta as I stood up.

Leaving behind the relative safety of the main building, Priscilla and I began patrolling for the rogue familiars prowling the school grounds. I had to hand it to the creepy dolls — they caught on to the fact that we were hunting them as soon as the first shot was fired. We could see them stalking around more cautiously as we moved from cover to cover, on the lookout for us. Priscilla had switched to her sidearm for a stealthier approach, and the time was marked by gunshots as we followed the trail of flesh puppets to the school gym, which was separate from the main school building.

The doors were wide open, allowing Priscilla and I to peer inside. There, in the center of the basketball court, was a clump of flesh the size of a monster truck tire thumping like a deformed heart. I could hear its beat as my sole connected with the polished wooden floorboards of the gym, a rhythm that sent shivers up my spine and kept me on my toes.

"Ugh, gross… There's a reason why we don't allow constructs in Temple Hall." Priscilla remarked as we hid behind opposite sides of the door. "See, they don't always get picked up by the wards, so they can wander off anywhere to… merge. Sure, they're supposed to be mindless and sexless, but when they bump uglies, it gets _real_ ugly."

"TMI, Priscilla. TMI." I said, making a face as I reached into my jacket and pulled out a pipe bomb. Priscilla put away her sidearm to ready her shotgun, and she covered me as I lurked closer and closer to the flesh clump to try and blow it up in one go. A dozen feet or so from the door, I pressed the detonator button on the pipe bomb and hurled it towards the meat blob, putting it within the pipe bomb's kill zone. "Grenade!"

Priscilla and I then ran like hell for the door, and we watched as the pipe bomb exploded, shards of metal burrowing into the clump of flesh. A deep rumbling sound was heard as the blob of meat began to expand, and with legs like tree trunks, the butcher's nightmare rose to reveal a deformed face and beefy arms made of smaller arms.

"Uh, hate to be Captain Obvious, but I think we made it angry." I remarked to Priscilla before opening my lighter and starting a fire. There was another explosion as the Thing caught on fire, and as it turned its head towards us, it decided with whatever excuse for a brain it had that it was clobbering time.

As the Thing got within range, a gunshot reverberated throughout the back of my mind as blue glass shattered, and I began hosing it with a flamethrower attack from my lighter. I then leapt to the side just in time to avoid the shrapnel that came with the Thing busting through the wall of the gym like a wrecking ball. As I scrambled to my feet, Priscilla opened fire with her shotgun until the Thing finally came to a halt, and it glared at us as it swung back around towards us.

An idea then occurred to me in the strange and seemingly random way the mind always does even in the heat of battle, and extending a hand out towards the ground, I felt the heat build up in my hand as the ground froze solid in a flash. As the Thing charged us again, it slipped, and found out the hard way that inertia was a harsh mistress as its face was plowed through the ice. Well, what can I say? Physics, bitch. All that muscle in its legs wouldn't help the Thing if it couldn't even get good traction.

"Fire in the hole!" I said as I set the Thing aflame with a lighter attack, and it roared in pain like a whale being harpooned as it flailed helplessly on the ice, trying to extinguish the inferno. For good measure, Priscilla fired upon the Thing until her Benelli was dry, and soon the Thing stopped struggling, allowing the flames to just burn it all away.

* * *

_It seems my warning regarding Illuminati and their messes was depressingly prophetic. I trust this impersonal medium perfectly expresses my lack of surprise._

_True, Innsmouth is a multi-denominational institution. The concept of stockpiling familiars for a rainy day, however, hearkens from its founders. Why, whatever could go wrong with creating scores of potentially murderous organic servants? Had that abomination growing in the recreation center reached its appalling bloom, I dare say we would have found out._

_I would hope this is the last of Innsmouth's dirty secrets you find unraveling; sadly none of us are that naive._

_R. Sonnac_


	23. Carter Unleashed

Today had been a long day, and right now, all I wanted was to kick back with my earbuds and listen to music. As I was doing just that while sitting back against the wall, I noticed that a shadow had passed over my legs, and I glanced up to see Carter tapping her ears. After I had taken my earbuds off expectantly, she began to speak while wringing her hands nervously. "Uh, hey, Chase. Can I… talk to you? Chosen one to, y'know… chosen one?"

"Sure, Carter, what do you wanna talk about?" I asked as I stood up from where I was sitting.

"About a big problem." Carter answered. "Obviously not as big a problem as all the other big problems you and Priscilla are dealing with outside those walls, but still — help?"

"Sure, fire away." I asked as I leaned casually against the wall and crossed my arms in front of my chest. Carter seemed a bit more at ease now, and she took a deep breath to calm herself down before continuing to speak.

"Okay, so… the Practical Alchemy class keeps racks of replacement familiars hung up in the basement — at least a dozen for every student." Carter began, and I was already disliking where this was going. "Now they're going berserk — a whole army of creepy dolls right under our feet. Normally, they'd die without their creator supplying them with anima, but something's keeping them alive…"

"And I take it you wanna get rid of it?" I asked, and Carter nodded.

"Miss Usher and Mr. Montag want me on the bench for this game, and I know it's to keep their star player from getting injured mid-season, but it feels more like being in the penalty box. I want to step up to bat. I-I mean, I wanna help out. I can use my powers — the really freaky ones. You know they warded the school from the inside because of me? I'm tired of being scared of it — being made sick by it!

Carter then glanced off to the side. "Maybe that's how my powers want to be used — for me to just say the words and tear it all down."

"And you need my help because…" I prompted.

"Look, if I set it off, I kinda need someone to make sure I can stop again — like a chaperone."

"Oh, so I get to chaperone a walking magical nuke?" A nervous nod from Carter answered me. "Well, this'll be interesting, at the very least. What's your plan?"

"As soon as everyone has gone to sleep, I'll come wake you up so we can put the plan into action secretly." Carter said as she reached into the pocket of her blood-spattered jacket to pull out a strange device. Handing it to me, she said, "This is a ward generator — it'll protect you when I start using my heavier spells. So… tonight?"

"Tonight." I reaffirmed as I offered her my hand. We shook on it, and we both went off to retire for the night until it was time.

* * *

"Psst! Hey — you awake?" Carter's voice hissed quietly, and my eyes blinked open as I looked up at Carter. Resisting the urge to moan in exhaustion, I crawled out of my sleeping bag slowly as to not wake up Priscilla sleeping like a log nearby. I had left my jacket in a heap on the floor nearby, and I picked it up to reveal the ward generator hidden beneath it, along with the Zippo lighter, my shoes, and my Beretta in its shoulder holster.

As I put on my jacket over my Beretta's shoulder holster, I looked up to see Carter waiting near the door leading out into the hallway. With my shoes in hand, I sneaked over to the door and followed her outside into the entrance hall, where we stopped in front of a faded blue metal door. From the pocket of her hoodie, Carter took out a ring of keys, and I waited patiently as she tried each key on by one. "Okay, we're in!"

As we stepped into the basement together, I shuddered as the chills of the night seeped through my clothes. Focusing on listening to the world around me, I could hear the whispers of something hiding within the darkness, the beat of a heart pulsing through the floor, and as I glanced at Carter, I knew that she could hear it, too.

Taking out my lighter, I flicked the spark wheel to create a blue flame for light and warmth. Seeing what I had done, Carter then cautiously snapped her fingers to create an orange fireball about the size of a basketball. She then let out a sigh of relief before turning her head to face me. "Ugh, I can't believe this seemed like a good idea. Got that ward generator handy? Okay, it's this way."

While I was content to let Carter take point, I nevertheless kept my lighter at the ready to back her up. Perhaps in order to try and keep the faint whispers from getting to her, Carter began making small talk with me. "So, uh… How's your super-story going so far?"

"Well…" I began as I thought of Joe Slater and Not-Ellis. Emotion began to well up inside me, and I did my best to keep it off my face as I spoke. "It's… not bad, all things considered, but not especially great, either. Certainly not what I had in mind when I joined the Templars."

"I know how that goes — swallowed a bee, wrecked your place, blah blah blah." Carter answered, nodding sympathetically. "They say we're gifted, and I don't wanna come across like a spoiled brat or anything, but gee, some gift! Scared off my friends, my family, any chance for a normal life. I even creeped out the other students here at, you know, Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts, huh? You a fan of J.K.?" I asked, and Carter nodded. I wordlessly raised my hand towards her, and for a second, she seemed unsure of what to do. Then a nervous smile appeared on her face as she gave me what had to be the most cautious high-five in history, like she was afraid I might explode if she slapped my palm too hard.

"To be honest, though, I can't really blame them. Sometimes when I dream, it gives my roommates nosebleeds. Not to get all Emo Allen Poe about it, but that doesn't really make me BFF material."

"Well, I dunno. You seem like a pretty cool and well adjusted girl, even if you are a magical atomic bomb on legs. So long as you aren't going to intentionally Hiroshimafy me, I'm good." I remarked honestly. "Back in my high school, I wasn't all that popular either. I mean, I wasn't at the bottom of the food chain, but I wasn't exactly getting invited to all the parties, either. I was just… there — an extra in someone else's movie."

Carter chuckled darkly at that. "Wow, I wish I was _that_ lucky. Here, I'm pretty much the outcast loner chick with the dark secret, just like in my friend Danny's comics. He's sweet, and kind, and more worried if I like his corny 80s movies than whether my powers are gonna fry us both. It's pretty cool. To not be judged by a normal person. That is, mostly normal. I think there's something in the water in Kingsmouth."

I actually laughed aloud at that — a real, full-bodied laugh that wasn't faked at all. It actually wasn't all that funny, but it felt good to laugh again, as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. At least for a little while. "Yeah, I met Danny back at his little fortress of solitude at the local skate park. He managed to help me and Priscilla out a little in finding out a little more about what caused all of this. So anyway, what exactly do you learn here in Innsmouth Academy?"

In addition to normal, mundane classes like math and English, the students of Innsmouth also studied demonology, necromancy, golemtry, among other types of magic. "Wow, those sound kinda cool. The only magic I know are the combat spells. You know, the basic fireball and snowball…"

"Well, Miss Usher and the other teachers have done their best to prepare me for the future. They warned me that there'll be people who will try to exploit my gifts — kinda like having the 'strangers with candy' talk, you know, but with magic." Carter explained.

"I know this academy is owned by the Illuminati, and they don't give anything out for free. They'll want something in return for my education, right? Giving back to secret society. I've already been offered a full scholarship at Oxford — the magical one — and I got a weird note with some Chinese signs on it. At least, it looked Chinese to me."

Carter sighed as she walked before continuing. "The thing is, I don't want to 'use' my gifts for anything. All I want is to learn how to control them, so I won't have to use them, if that makes any sense."

"Yeah, I get where you're coming from…" I answered, nodding. I then froze as I stepped into a puddle of some sort, and I looked with my flashlight to see that the puddle was some kind of liquid that looked like mud, but didn't quite have the consistency. "Ugh… It's times like these I wish we had a Hufflepuff around. I hear they're particularly good finders."

Carter snorted. "You watched _A Very Potter Musical_?"

"Of course! It's funny as hell! I can pretty much recite the entire thing from memory."

"Oh, does that mean you can sing the duet between Voldemort and Quirrell?" Carter asked, and I nodded vigorously. "Alright, then sing away. I could use something to distract me from the cold."

I nodded as I cleared my throat. _"You won't sleep on your tummy / You won't sleep on your back / We're quite the kooky couple, you'll agree / We share some hands and fingers / And yet the feeling lingers / We're just about as different as anyone can be…"_

* * *

_"…__I'll see my friends, gonna laugh 'til we cry / Take my Firebolt, gonna take to the sky / No way this year anyone's gonna die / And it's gonna be totally awesome!_

_"__I'll cast some spells, with a flick of my wand / Defeat the Dark Arts, yeah bring it on! / And do it all with my best friend Ron / 'Cause together we're totally awesome!"_

I then pointed to Carter, who looked distinctly unamused as she shook her head. "No. No. _No_. I am _not_ going to sing."

"Oh, come on, Carter! Don't be such a killjoy! I _know_ you know the words…" I said. Then, something rasped softly from somewhere within the darkness, and Carter and I exchanged glances. "Wait. Did you hear that?"

My vigilance was rewarded as the crazed familiars Carter had been talking about came shrieking out of the shadows. Sparks flew from my lighter's striker wheel, and a hose of flame brought down the creepy flesh puppets as if their strings had been cut. Carter helped out by throwing in some lightning to the mix to stun the familiars while I roasted them alive.

As the last of the familiars burned to death, I cautiously lowered my weapon only to hear more of them coming. Then Carter spoke up with fierce determination. "Just so you know — things are about to get kind of gross…"

I took that as a warning to activate the ward generator, and with the push of a button, a force field made of anima surrounded me on all sides. Tearing my gaze away from the meat puppets trying to bash their way through my barrier, I then looked to see Carter rise up into the air, her hands burning. She then crossed her arms in a X-shape in front of her chest before suddenly stretching them outwards, and my vision went white as I was caught in the blast of her attack.

As my vision cleared and my force field disappeared, I saw Carter standing amidst the ashes of what I assumed to be the incinerated familiars. We then made eye contact, and I saw that she was nervous, even scared as she glanced back and forth from me and the ashes of our attackers. "Whoa… That was awesome! You killed all of them by yourself!"

Carter's face turned pink at the praise as she stared down at her hands. "I've never gone this far. I mean, with my powers." She then looked back up at me with a new glint in her eyes. "I think I like it. Come on, let's go."

We picked up the pace from there, and we raced past wooden crates containing who-knows-what as we made our way through the absurdly spacious basement of Innsmouth Academy. Lone familiars ambushed us as we passed by, but all we had to do was get in a good magical blast in order to put them down for good.

We paused to catch our breath as we came across a set of stairs leading deeper underground, and something told me that the was the source of all our troubles was down here. "Think this is the place?"

Carter nodded as she took point, and I followed her down below into a large room, where an abominable mass of flesh lay atop a round concrete dais with steps leading up to it. Segments of giant metal pipe were piled up all around, and smaller ones supported the ceiling alongside metal scaffolding. The mass of flesh then began to rise, and we watched in horror as the thick limbs of the abomination revealed itself.

I wasted no time in beginning my barrage of fire, while Carter took a little longer to catch on. Together, our flames converged into a massive assault on the giant hunk of meat, but aside from the loud, long grunt it gave as the fire ate away, it seemed unaffected. As it began barreling towards us, I saw Carter freeze up, and I shouted to her as I pushed her out of the monster's way before running in the opposite direction. "Keep your wits about you or you're going to get killed!"

Since fire didn't seem to be working, I decided to go for a different approach, and as I thrust my fist forward, the ice that had encased it within seconds now flew towards the monster as frozen shrapnel. The icy projectiles embedded themselves into the monster's arm like daggers as it blocked my attack, and then it suddenly roared as electricity glowed on its back, courtesy of Carter. "Chase, get ready with that ward!"

"Already on it!" I said as I hit the button. As the ward sprang up to defend me, my senses were immediately assaulted by the anima coming from the supernova that was Carter's magic. My eardrums burst as my vision turned white, and the now-familiar smell of burning flesh entered my nostrils as I was knocked flat onto my back in a daze. An eternity and a day seemed to pass before my vision had cleared enough to see Carter standing over me with her hand extended.

Grabbing hold of her hand, I pulled myself back up onto my feet, and Carter let me have a few moments to regain my bearings before holding her hand towards me again. "The whispering's stopped. We better get back. Let's make this our secret, deal?"

"Deal." I said as we shook on it. A thought then occurred to me, and I voiced it aloud as a question. "Hey, if you're a Bee like me and Priscilla, then why not travel through Agartha to someplace safe?"

Carter pursed her lips nervously before answering. "…Because I don't know where else to go. They took me in here when I was twelve, the youngest enrollment since like, ever. My parents didn't wanna let me go, but what else could they do? Pay off another trashed house and interstate move? They still apologize in every letter from home. Plus, I could never live with myself if I were to just leave Miss Usher and Mr. Montag hanging."

"I understand…" I said thoughtfully as Carter developed a sudden interest in her ratty sneakers. "Well, when all of this is over, come swing by Temple Hall in London and ask for Sonnac. The loyalty between the Templars may be old-fashioned, but it's absolute. You won't be alone. I promise."

"…Thanks, Chase. I'll think about it." Carter said as she looked up at me and slowly extended a hand out to me, with more confidence than before, and we shook hands once more. There are some experiences you just can't share with someone without befriending them, and slaying a bunch of crazed familiars and their meaty master is one of them.

* * *

_There's no denying that, from what you've told me, the girl shows some rudimentary promise. Unfortunately for her, she's a product of the Illuminati's flawed education system, and as such, will need constant supervision less she spontaneously combusts the entire world around her._

_Fortunately for her, she had you to guide and temper her powers, making sure their application was focused in the appropriate direction._

_While we should not make a habit of cleaning up the Illuminati's messes, I most certainly approve of the cleaning up of this particular mess. Additionally, one can only hope that your sophisticated tutelage has had a positive influence on the girl._

_R. Sonnac_

* * *

_Thus ends the Innsmouth saga of this story. Also, A Very Potter Musical. If you're a fan of Harry Potter and have not watched this masterpiece of comedy on YouTube, GO DO SO RIGHT NOW. Please. You'll be doing yourself a favor._


	24. The Illuminati Archives

The Old Block of Innsmouth Academy was a smaller building behind the main one, and it was made of faded brick, with ivy crawling up the smooth white pillars in front of the front door. As we approached the front door, I opened the door with the key Mr. Montag had given us, and I pushed it open for Priscilla as she took point with her shotgun.

As I followed close behind with my Beretta in hand, the decrepit floorboards creaked under our feet, as if they were trying to warn us to turn back. If so, we didn't heed them as our eyes scanned the rundown first floor of the Old Block for anything unusual. The place gave me the creeps, and it wasn't just because of the chance that Beaumont could be down there in the Illuminati's archives with a powerful artifact.

We eventually swept through the entire ground floor to come across a larger room that was furnished a bit more nicely than the relatively empty ones we assumed to be old classrooms. Maybe it was a teacher's lounge or something. A bookshelf lined the wall to the left of the door, and two leather couches sat on the sides of a red rug and wooden coffee table. To our right, papers were scattered all over a section of the floor, while a locked cabinet sat in the corner next to a lamp.

However, it was the floorboards in front of the ancient desk that got our attention. As I stepped onto them, then sank under my feet more noticeably than the other wooden planks. I frowned as I lifted my foot up to put it back down on the same spot, and I confirmed that I wasn't just imagining things. "Hey, Priscilla! Come take a look at these!"

As she came over, I showed her how the wooden planks sank deeper than the others when I stepped on them. After confirming the fact for herself, she kneeled down onto the floor and drew her combat knife to wedge it into the seam between the planks. With some Reinforcement on her part, she lifted the plank easily to reveal a stone stairway beneath the floorboards. We shared a meaningful glance, and I silently drew my own knife and began helping her remove the planks.

Within a few minutes, we had opened up a hole wide enough for us to access the stairway below. After climbing down below the Old Block, we reached the bottom of the stairway only to be met with a locked door with no handle. "Think you can bust your way through, Priscilla?"

Priscilla shook her head as she closed our eyes and put a hand on the door. "No — this door's been warded to prevent that. If we want a way in, we've got to find the keys and put 'em in these."

She indicated the depressions in the wall next to the door, and they were similar to the ones back at the old house. As we shone our flashlights onto the wood of the door, we could read something carved onto the flat surface:

_The Order of Great Works  
All things in their Place under Stars:  
The stone Lodges Erected  
To the Watchful Eye  
Upon the Bones of the Opposers  
And their Symbols, buried_

Glancing at the depressions in the wall again, I took note of their shapes. One was shaped like the Star of David, and another resembled the square and compasses that were the symbols of the Freemasons. A half-dome indentation was placed above a smaller one, and I recognized the bottom one to be the cross of the Templars. "Think the Illuminati would've been kind enough to leave the keys lying around for us?"

Priscilla snorted at that as she readied her shotgun. "Not without protection. Let's see if we can find them."

We climbed out of the hole we had made in the floor back onto the first floor, and we began searching for the keys to the archives. We soon find the metallic Star of David lying atop a teacher's desk, but as I made to grab it, a monster appeared from the shadows in the corner. It wore black finery over the snow white skin of its humanoid form, and its black "hair" flickered like a flame as its twisted face hissed at me. I went with my first instinct and brought my gun up to fire, but it went transparent in time to let the bullet pass harmlessly through it and into the wall.

As the creature turned opaque again, it raised a long-fingered hand in order to claw me across the face. Luckily, Priscilla was there watching out for me, and the monster screeched in pain as it was struck in the shoulder with a 12-gauge shotgun slug. "It's a spectre! Shoot it when it's solid, and use magic when it isn't!"

"Got it!" I said as I brought out the Zippo lighter and thumbed the striker wheel just as the spectre turned transparent. It let out a horrible wail as its ectoplasm burned away from a hose of flame, and as the last of it was incinerated, I flicked the chrome lid of the lighter back on with grim satisfaction at the nice black scorch mark I had left on the wall facing me. This thing was getting pretty good mileage, and I resolved to thank John Wolf should we ever meet again.

Grabbing the first of the five keys to the Illuminati vault, Priscilla and I began hunting for the other four. Each one was guarded by a spectre, and each monstrous defender fell either to hot lead or hot flame, allowing us to claim what they were guarding. With the masonic symbol, eye, skull, and cross in hand, we returned triumphant to the archive's door, where we inserted the keys into the depressions in the wall. As the Templar cross was finally fitted into place, it sank by itself into the wall along with the other keys, and the door swung open silently on its hinges for the two of us to enter the archives.

The hallways of the Illuminati archives were lined with bookshelves full of ancient grimoires, and I just couldn't take my eyes off at how much knowledge was stored here. Despite my curiosity, I kept myself focused on the task at hand, and we cautiously peered around the corners of bookshelves with our guns at the ready. Eventually, Priscilla and I came across a fork in the corridors, and I could see Priscilla purse her lips as she began thinking of a plan. "Hey, maybe we should split up. That way, we can cover more ground faster."

"No — absolutely not." Priscilla rejected immediately. "I won't have you running into Beaumont and the artifact all by yourself. No — you're staying right on my ass, where it's safe."

"Hey, I'm not stupid enough to think I can just take Beaumont all by myself." I said hotly. "All I'm suggesting is that we split up in order to _find _Beaumont, not fight him on our own. If one of us finds him, we can tail him and maybe figure out what he's up to. Plus, if we stick together, he's more likely to discover us."

Finally, Priscilla nodded grudgingly as she saw the logic of my plan. "Fine — but do _not_, under _any _circumstance, confront Beaumont. If you die, _I'll _kill you myself.

"Duly noted. I take left, you take right?"

Priscilla nodded slowly, and with one last look, she left me on my own. However, there was just one small, but _very _important piece of common gaming knowledge that I forgot when formulating my plan:

Never _ever _split the party.

* * *

As luck would have it, I was the first to find Beaumont, who was reading a book lying open atop a pedestal in an alcove. I pressed my lips together to keep in a gasp as I saw the sword in his hand, still sheathed inside an unremarkable scabbard made of brown leather.

The power coming from the sword was _incredible _— the sound its magic manifested itself as when I tapped into my sixth sense nearly deafened me despite my earplugs, like an ethereal choir with its volume cranked up to eleven. Its wielder was no laughing matter, either — he outclassed both me and Priscilla combined.

Beaumont then looked up from his book, and then spoke, the back of his long black-haired head still facing in my direction. "Come out from your hiding place, little boy. It isn't polite to spy on people. And don't pretend you're not there; I can feel your presence right behind that bookshelf."

Instead of responding, I took out one of my pipe bombs from my jacket, pressed the detonator button, and hurled it around the corner before taking cover again. As the bomb went off with a bang, I readied my Beretta and peered around the corner as the smoke cleared. "Crap."

Amidst the shrapnel and broken pipe shards stood Beaumont, and his handsome face was twisted into an expression of annoyance, like I had just thrown a crumpled-up ball of paper instead of an improvised explosive. As I brought my gun up to fire, Beaumont conjured up a magic shield, and my bullets created ripples in the magical energy protecting him as they were flattened against the barrier. "Are you finished?"

I answered _no _in the form of a fiery explosion from my lighter, but that too fell against Beaumont's shield. Doubting that any of my other spells would work, I came out from behind the bookshelf, holding my gun as I held both of my hands up like a perp in front of a cop. "Beaumont."

Beaumont regarded me for a moment before the corners of his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Templar. Aren't you a little young to be crusading?"

"Yes, yes, I am." I answered in my best Vincent Martella impression. I was doing my best to remain calm, but it was hard not to let my fear show in front of someone who had me helpless and knew it.

Beaumont, however, seemed perfectly casual as he looked me dead in the eye. "I take it that this is the portion of the conversation where I reveal my plans to you?"

"Yeah, pretty much." I said. Good — the evil overlord _isn't _killing me on the spot. If I had been watching this on television or something, I would've called him out for his stupidity at this point, but since this was real life, I was all for letting him monologue until the cavalry arrived. "Come on, what have you got to lose?"

Beaumont snorted at that as he rolled his eyes. "I'm wounded by the lack of respect that implies. Really, I am."

I gritted my teeth at that. I had to give it to this guy, though — he was good. "I see you've read the Evil Overlord List."

Beaumont chuckled darkly at that. "Yes, yes, I have. Still, I suppose I can humor you — just a little. I've been in exile for a very long time, you know. I was forced by false prophets to flee my homeland in disguise — degrade myself by pretending to be something I'm not, to be much less than I truly am. I spent a long time cursing my kind, planning my revenge and victorious return. Eventually, I got on with my life, and now, _they're_ all dead and forgotten by those who once worshipped them. There's a lesson in there somewhere, I'm sure."

I kept silent as I let Beaumont pace as he monologued, wondering where the hell Priscilla was. She _should've_ been able to hear my pipe bomb explode, right? "Thing is, I'm ready to be myself once again — no more disguises. Their false prophecies perished with the white god. _I'm_ free, and I don't plan on anything…"

Beaumont then drew the long sword from its sheath, dropping the latter onto the floor, and I looked at it in awe as he made a few slow sweeps with it in the air. It had a bit of a futuristic vibe to it, and it was made of some kind of metal whose method of forging had long since forgotten to mankind, the groove running down the center of the blade pulsed with orange anima as the weapon set its blade on fire. Beaumont looked at it, a greedy glint in his eyes as they reflected the glow of the sword. "…Or any_one_ changing that. It's beautiful, isn't it? And to think this thing was out there all along, while I wasted my time chasing a _fucking _hammer."

Beaumont then began glaring a hole into me as he spoke, gesturing with his free hand as the other was occupied holding the sword's hilt. "I got what I came for, and I need to be moving on. Places to go, spells to cast… _Gods_ to wake… Spoiler alert: we'll fight, I'll win, you'll die, and if you're lucky, your 'comrades' might spare a second to mourn your passing before tracking me down just in time to watch your world tumble into chaos. Title scroll, lights come back up… Oh wait, no. They won't."

"So what are you gonna do with me now?" I asked with a morbid curiosity, and in response, Beaumont raised his sword so that its tip was almost touching my chest.

"Why, kill you, of course. Just because you're only a snot-nosed teenager doesn't mean I'll spare you — I don't like leaving matters unresolved. I'll do it cleanly and painlessly — none of the fancy stuff. I'm not _that_ sort of villain, no stage magician. I take pride in my work, and I'm not afraid to get my hands… _filthy. _Farewell, boy…"

Before I could even move to defend myself, I felt a sharp, hot pain in my chest — Beaumont had already thrust the tip of the flaming sword straight through my T-shirt and into my heart. I stared in numb shock as Beaumont withdrew the blade from my chest — and it was covered in _my _blood. As I registered this crucial fact, I suddenly found myself on the carpeted stone floor, blood seeping out from the gaping hole in my torso as I heard Beaumont walk away with the sword, leaving behind the sword's plain leather scabbard as he went. As darkness slowly creeped into the edges of my vision, the last thing I remembered before blacking out was the sound of footsteps running towards me and someone calling out my name.

"CHASE!"


	25. Avalon

In the cold blackness where I had been deposited after Beaumont stabbed me, I had plenty of time to contemplate the last few days. When the Templars picked me up, I had kinda thought it was fate. I thought I had been prepared for whatever this mission would throw at me, but I never thought it'd go _anything_ like this — never in a million years…

If I had known what would have happened to me on Solomon Island, I would've let Priscilla talk Sonnac out of letting me come. I didn't want to die — not when I still had so much to live for. Fifteen years… snuffed out just like that. And Mom… Oh God, _Mom_…

I then became aware of music growing louder and louder from within the void, and I strained my nonexistent ears in order to figure out what it was. I soon identified it as being similar to the fairylike voices of Beaumont's sword, but the sound was much more soothing to listen to compared to the subtle belligerence laying beneath the surface of the sword's music. It made me feel comfortably warm, like sleeping next to a fireplace Cinderella style.

Then the warmth began to center on the middle of my chest, growing uncomfortably hot until it felt like I was being slowly run through the chest with a white hot blade. I attempted to cry out in pain as the heat slowly dug deeper and deeper into my unseen flesh, but no sound came out, and then in my mind's eye, a shape made of pure light appeared.

It was an unusual one to my addled mind, as it looked like a rectangle, but then I noticed that the shape subtly curved into a blunt point at the bottom. It shone as bright as the sun, but strangely enough, I wasn't blinded from staring so long at it. Then the glow of the shape faded away along with the white hot pain, like a lamp going out, to reveal itself to be the scabbard of some sword, though I thought I had a pretty good guess which sword that was, judging by the design of the scabbard.

Orange anima pulsed down the middle of the scabbard like the beating of a heart, and I was sure the metal was the exact same material used to forge Beaumont's sword. The tip of the scabbard appeared to be missing, as if it had been crudely cut off, and the stump of metal glowed orange like a stick poked into the fire. The scabbard slowly dispersed into particles of orange anima as it sank deeper and deeper into the void, and as the sheath resumed its course, the pain had gone back to the pleasant and warm sensation it had been before. To be honest though, this wasn't a bad last experience to have before shuffling off the mortal coil. However, I didn't want to die — not without a fight, at least…

Eventually, all good things must come to an end, and the song was no different as the scabbard disappeared from view, leaving only a few specks of orange anima behind. Thus, my silent, inner struggle began. I clung to the semblance of consciousness I had for as long as I could, but I could feel myself slipping against my awareness, like fingers trying to seize a handful of a cloth held taut. Deeper and deeper, I sank into the blackness of unconsciousness, until finally, I gave in to the inevitable. Before I blacked out for good, though, a single word blazed across my mind in blazing orange cursive.

"Avalon…"

* * *

An eternity later, I became dimly aware of something making noise next to me. I let out a slurred groan as I muttered a phrase that I couldn't remember the words to in a feeble attempt to try and get it to stop. The white noise soon cleared up into a more understandable form, namely the sound of a familiar voice calling out my name. "Chase? Are you awake?"

"Huh…?" I said groggily as I tried to make out who was speaking through my eyelashes. "Oh… Yeah… I'm awake, but… How am I still alive?"

As the image in my eyes grew clear, I saw Priscilla hanging above me, and she wiped something from the corner of her eye that I suspected to be a tear before answering. "I'm not too sure about the how, but I have a good guess as to the reason _why_.

"See, when I found you bleeding out on the floor, I suddenly picked up on something _powerful _coming from the… scabbard thingy on the floor. I guess Beaumont must've left it behind, though I have no idea how something with that much anima managed to slip under his radar. At the time, though, I was trying to bring you back from the dead. Anyway, with Beaumont gone, the artifact revealed its true power and form, and I could see it causing your wound to close up by itself slowly. Look — you can even see the results from the great big hole in your shirt."

As I propped myself up onto my elbows, I looked down at myself to see that she was right. Sure, there was a hole in my T-shirt that I would have to take care of later, but there was no sign on my skin that I had ever been stabbed by a primordial weapon of magical mass destruction at all. "Okay, but… what happened next? What happened to the scabbard?"

"Well…" Priscilla pursed her lips before continuing. "It then floated over to your body, and it kinda… stabbed you through the heart. You cried out as it sank into your body, but you got real quiet as it disappeared into your body. Heck, I'm not even sure if what I saw was even real at all — you don't seem any different, aside from… you know. Coming back from the dead."

Before replying, I ran some anima through me to try and get a feel for my condition, and there it was. The magical presence of the scabbard, Avalon, was faint, but I could still feel it pulsing slightly like a second heart as it floated amidst my magic, seemingly content with where it was. "Huh… Well, at the very least, you weren't hallucinating. I can feel something foreign inside of me, but barely. It doesn't appear to be harmful, but…"

"Well, you're alive, and that's all that matters." Priscilla said firmly as she gestured for me to get back up onto my feet. "Let's not look the gift horse in the mouth. Now come on — we gotta get out of here if we want to catch Beaumont in time."

"Right." I said, and together, we began searching for a way out. As we traced our steps back to the entrance of the archives, we both sighed as we saw that the way out had been collapsed. "Figures Beaumont would try to get rid of the obvious way out, but there's gotta be another way out of this mess…"

As we navigated the spaces in between the bookshelves of the Illuminati archive, we made sure to keep our weapons at the ready in case something decided to get the jump on us. However, nothing did, as they were all dead and lying in front of a single pedestal. "What the hell…?"

A grotesque giant made of raw flesh lay on its back, a smoking hole blown through it, and all around it, monsters similar to the familiars Carter and I had put down lay dead, having met the same fate. They seemed to have been killed while making a desperate last stand against Beaumont as he reached for whatever they had been guarding. I barely spared the dead bodies a glance as Priscilla and I stepped over the remnants of the massacre to reach the open book still lying on the pedestal.

The pages of the book itself were handwritten and yellow with age, though what really got our attention was the smudged card paper-clipped to one of them. It looked fairly old, and it was neatly typed, with the Illuminati's blue pyramid emblazoned on the bottom right corner.

_Frank R. Devore  
The Devore Mansion  
Solomon Island_

_Devore founded the Blue Ridge Mine and built the Devore Mansion in 1876. Found guilty of murdering his wife Joanna in October 1881. Sentenced to death by hanging. Associated with individual named 'Beaumont'. Numerous references to this person in diary. Connected to other mentions of Beaumont in Solomon Island history? Diary also references important papers regarding Blue Ridge Mine located in mansion, but papers appear to have been hidden. Our agents must have been unable to retrieve. Devore Mansion has recently been sold to E. Franklin._

So E. Franklin in Devore Mansion, huh? A good lead to follow, if we ever manage to get out of here. As if she had somehow sensed my negativity, Priscilla spoke up. "Hey, don't worry about it. We're gonna get out of here. Just you wait and see."

"Right." I said unemotionally as I took the card and stuffed it into the back pocket of my jeans. We continued on our not-so-merry way, past dusty grimoires on bookshelves and faded blue carpets, until we reached the other end of the archives. Four Illuminati pyramids inscribed within circles stood side by side in front of a bookshelf, and I smiled a little as I heard the magic within the chalk used to draw them.

Priscilla stepped into one of the circles, and I heard the buzz of the anima pumped into the floor through her feet, and the chalk lines began to glow blue. She did this three more times to each of the other circles, until the bookshelf rumbled backwards and slid aside into the wall to reveal a secret passageway. I then glanced to see Priscilla grin me. "See? What did I tell you? Now come on — we gotta get back at Beaumont for shanking you."

At this, I actually grinned back at her. "Right. Let's get me some payback."

* * *

"Caution is advised going forward." Sonnac's voice spoke over the speaker of Priscilla's phone. "Now that Beaumont is aware of your involvement, he will be like a cornered lion, and he will most likely not be so merciful the next time around."

"Yes, sir." Priscilla and I both intoned, and with a nod from Priscilla, I spoke to Sonnac. "Sir, there's something we've got to tell you. When we were in the archives, Beaumont came _very _close to killing me with a stab to the heart. I probably would've died if it weren't for an artifact left behind by him that he was unaware of…"

"…Please explain." Sonnac spoke after a pause. It wasn't a request. I began to elaborate on my experience with "Avalon", and Sonnac stayed quiet until I had finished. "Interesting… That artifact could prove useful in your search, but regardless, exercise care, and try to find out what the warlock is up to. I do not wish to find out if the artifact will work its magic a second time.

"The sword is still your prime objective. We do not know what it is yet, or what it can do, but it is almost certainly of great value. Our top researcher, Gladstone is deep in the bowels of Temple Hall as we speak, digging through the lost libraries. In the meantime, treat this as a learning experience. You live, you learn, and, hopefully, you grow into better soldiers. Good hunting to you both."

"Yes, sir." Priscilla and I intoned one last time before Sonnac ended the call.


	26. The Franklin Mansion

As Priscilla and I approached the Devore Mansion, it looked like it had seen better days. Old and faded paint that could've been almost any color was chipping away from the prehistoric wooden planks, and the house groaned as the wind blew. The ancient porch creaked as we stepped onto it, and as we paused in front of the front door, I asked, "You think anyone's home?"

As if on cue, the front door opened to reveal an old woman who I estimated to be somewhere between fifty to eighty years old due to her graying hair, dressed in a very nice sweater and pair of trousers, both of which looked more expensive than all of the clothes on my back, and probably the rest of my bargain bin wardrobe, combined. "Good morning, you two."

"Good morning, ma'am." I said, acting as if she hadn't taken me by surprise. "My name is Chase Mercer, and this is Priscilla Ross. We, uh… came by to check out the house. I-If you don't mind, of course."

"Don't mind at all." The old woman said as she held the old door open for us. "Come in, come in, and the name's Eleanor Franklin. I was just about to start making lunch."

Not wanting to be a burden, I volunteered to help Mrs. Franklin in the kitchen, and she accepted my offer. Within half an hour, there was a jug of milk sitting on the table next to two plates, one with green apples and the other with roast beef sandwiches of my creation. Years of being left home alone have allowed me to refine sandwich-making down to an art form, and after inhaling my third or fourth sandwich, I remembered to breathe and engage our host in conversation. "You look nice, Mrs. Franklin. Were you expecting company?"

"Why, thank you, dear — they're Saks Fifth Avenue." Mrs. Franklin said. "As for my company, well… My husband told me to expect you two, so I threw on the glad rags."

Priscilla and I exchanged glances as Mrs. Franklin stared out the big French window of the sitting room. "I used to take any excuse to socialize, threw the best parties this backwards island has ever seen. But that coach turned into a pumpkin a long, long time ago."

"It must be pretty lonely out here all alone." I remarked as I gulped down my glass of milk before I could choke on my bite of roast beef. Mrs. Franklin just shrugged as she looked back at us.

"Eh, not really. I share this old pile with all my cats and all the ghosts. I even moved the furniture down to give them the run of the upstairs, and the view from those big windows…" Mrs. Franklin sighed again as she stared out the window again. "Oh, it was a peach of a view when I shared it with my husband Ed, but the peach trees are rotten through now."

"So do you know anything about… the Blue Ridge Mine?" Priscilla asked cautiously, and she bit into and chewed on her apple as Mrs. Franklin sighed again, turning her head to stare down at the white milk in her glass.

"Well… things started changing back in that cold, cold summer of '71 — even before the ruckus with the Indians over that damned hole in the ground. Something happened up there, and it started eating away at Ed, but he wouldn't admit to it. When he came home — if he came home at _all_ — he shut himself in his study with all the books and maps. And then there was the incident with the Indians…"

Priscilla and I kept our mouths shut as Mrs. Franklin monologued, her eyes staring past the glass and table. "Ed didn't need to kill anyone — it was self-defense, but he was tormented by it. He couldn't sleep, suffered night terrors. He'd stay up all ways scribbling in his books, on magazine covers, on the table cloths, on the walls. I could hear this incessant scratching in the dead of the night. After a while I stopped asking him to come back to bed. I never did figure out where he kept all that writing.

"When his crew was found dead in the mine, it was the straw the broke the camel's back, so to speak. I found him hanging in the attic, his face was the color of a ripe plum. But that's not how I remember him, not how I want to remember him. He was a good man, my Ed. A good husband. A good friend.

"There's no shortage of secrets in this house, but Ed lost his way and his mind. Says he wants to know how to put it all together, but he's just broken memories now. None of them good. Says the dreams came through and ate him up, and unless something is done, they'll eat us all. Says it's all in here somewhere, but he can't remember where."

We were silent for awhile, save for the sounds of us slowly crunching, chewing, and swallowing our food. As I finished off the last of the milk in my glass, I stood up from my seat on the couch and wiped my mouth clean. "Thank you for telling us, Mrs. Franklin. It must've been hard for you. If you don't mind, we'd like to search the house."

"Go ahead — whatever skeletons in my closet have long since stopped haunting me." Mrs. Franklin said, and Priscilla got up from her seat in order to follow me out of the sitting room. I paused for a moment in front of one particular painting just outside the sitting room. It depicted a red-skinned horned demon with leathery wings and a face on its stomach flying above people burning in the great maw of some great beast. Above the demon was a twisty scroll with words printed on it.

IN INFERNO NVLLA-EST REDEMPTIO.

"There is no redemption in hell." Priscilla said aloud, and I glanced out of the corner of my eye at her in mild surprise.

"I'm taking Latin back in London." Priscilla explained. "_Latina lingua mortua est, mortua quam maxime. Prima necavit Romanos et nunc necat me._ The Latin language is dead, as dead as it can be. First, it killed the Romans, and now it's killing me."

I laughed at that as I laid a hand onto the golden picture frame, and on a hunch, I pulled the painting towards me to reveal the threshold of a hidden room. As Priscilla shut the painting door behind me, I switched on my flashlight in order to have a look around. Paper rustled as I stepped onto them, and an entire wall of the room had been devoted to papers yellowed with age, whose cursives I couldn't read. Opposite the wall of paper was a bookshelf filled to the brim with books, and a giant globe depicting the world sat next to a desk and chair.

Atop the desk was a small, unadorned metal box, and to my surprise, it opened fairly easily, the difficulty coming from how long it had been since the box had last opened. Inside was a yellowed paper whose bottom corner seemed to have had some honey spilled on it. Listening closely, I could hear the soft rumble of a distant machine from the stain, and I shone my flashlight onto the scribbled letters of the page.

_No Good. No God. No saving me now from what's waiting under Blue Ridge, deep down in the Deep Shaft locked away. Oh, Ellie, you don't understand what a man works on in here, down there. Been so busy, me and the man I shot dead. Me and all the dead men, the vikings and braves, our honeyed ancestors…_

"Vikings? Braves? Honeyed ancestors?" I wondered aloud as Priscilla came to look at the page over my shoulder. "The heck?"

Priscilla took the page away from me, and after studying it for a moment, she folded it up and stuffed it into her pocket. "I don't get it either, but it's clear to see that whatever drove Mr. Franklin to madness, it's in the Blue Ridge Mines. Let's go, Chase."


	27. The Blue Ridge Mine

An hour or so after we had left the Devore Mansion, Priscilla and I walked north until we stood outside the rotten wooden doors that blocked off the entrance to the Blue Ridge Mine. A sign above the entrance to the mine read in red painted letters: _DANGER! KEEP OUT!_

Priscilla and I, of course, completely ignored this warning as we stepped up to the doors to examine them. They were locked tight, of course, but that was a non-issue with Priscilla's strength. Within a minute, she had bulled her way through the weak wooden planks the chain lock held together, and as she pulled out her shotgun and took point, I drew my Beretta and began singing ironically. "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go…"

As we stepped past the shattered remains of the mine's doors and walked through the mineshaft, we found ourselves inside the cavern, where mushrooms glowed turquoise in the darkness near the walls. The only manmade light was coming from a lantern hanging above what appeared to be a mineshaft elevator. "Huh. That's convenient, but also rather suspicious. Hasn't this place been abandoned for years?"

"That's right. Keep your eyes peeled, Chase." Priscilla said as she hefted her shotgun. "Wait… Do you hear that?"

I did hear that. If I strained my ears to listen, I could hear the sound of clanking metal, as well as the crackle of electricity and the shuffling footfalls of something large lumbering towards our position. Pressing ourselves into the stone wall opposite one of the mushroom patches so that we disappeared into the darkness, we held our breaths as the newcomer came into view. It seemed to be a golem of some sort, and it was made of scrap metal that clanged against each other with every step, as if they kept getting struck by hammers. A single light shone from a lantern mounted on the golem's shoulder, and it illuminated the next few strides of the golem's path as it walked.

We waited with bated breath until the danger had passed, and after we exhaled in relief, we were back on the move. Careful to keep our footsteps quiet, we made our way towards the mineshaft elevator, making sure to keep out of the mushrooms' light. As Priscilla began examining the elevator's control panel, I kept a lookout for any other golems guarding the mine. "So do you think it'll work?"

"Yep. It's in pretty good condition, considering how long it's gone without maintenance, but that makes me even more suspicious. Let's be careful on the way down."

As I stepped aboard the elevator's platform, Priscilla flipped a switch, and we began descending with a noise so loud and ugly, it made me cringe. It was a wonder that there wasn't a whole horde of clunky Terminator golems awaiting us at the bottom of the lift when we finally reached rock bottom. The floodlights scattered all around the lower levels of the mine were all lit, which only added to our wariness along with the shadows, which seemed even darker now when compared to the light.

A sudden rasp was all the warning I got before something pounced on me, and I instinctively burst into blue flame as I struggled to get my attacker off of me. It appeared to be some kind of humanoid monster, with skin the color of soot stretched across its skeletal frame, which wore nothing except for a ragged pair of pants, and orange eyes burned like fireballs in their sockets as the monster came into contact with my flames. From behind it, I saw Priscilla grab the monster from behind by its scrawny neck and yank it off of me. As it stumbled backwards while on fire, I sat up quickly and brought my pistol up to fire, and I was pleased to see that a good percentage of my bullets nailed the monster.

I then rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the green fireballs the monster hurled at me like baseballs, and I responded with my own salvo of fiery blue death as Priscilla brought her shotgun up to fire. The monster wailed as it was burnt to a crisp, and as I stood up and brushed myself off, I asked Priscilla, "Okay… Just what the heck was that?"

"A shade. They're kinda like ghosts, except they're perfectly capable of doing physical harm." Priscilla answered as she loaded more shells into her shotgun and pumped another one into the chamber of her shotgun. "You okay, though?"

I nodded as I loaded a fresh magazine into my Beretta and checked to make sure that a bullet had been properly chambered. While being ambushed had left me with the jitters, I didn't want Priscilla to pry any further. "Yeah, I'm fine. Come on — let's get going."

Priscilla still looked unsure, and it was only when I took point did she move from her spot. As I stepped into a patch of darkness unlit by the floodlights, my foot didn't touch anything, and I yelled as I fell through the unseen hole in the ground. "Chase!"

I let out a gasp of pain as I landed onto my back, and I could feel the sharp rocks on the ground digging into my jacket. I groaned as I got up shakily from my nasty fall, and as I picked up my gun and glanced at my surroundings, I called out weakly to Priscilla. "It's okay! I think I found a way deeper into the mine!"

"Alright, hold on! Let me just make a way for us to get out of here!" Priscilla called. Within a few minutes, she had created a rope ladder for us to get out of the hole with the supplies she had brought with her in a duffel bag. As she joined me in the hole, we shone our flashlights into the darkness as we made our way through.

A few steps into the shadows, my foot bumped against something strangely smooth for our surroundings, and I illuminated the offending object: an old miner's helmet. I then swept the light further into the cave to see the skeleton dressed in the clothes of a miner, its flesh long since decayed down to the pale white bone. I couldn't imagine what it had been like for him to die down here all alone.

"Sorry, pal…" I said to the skeleton as we stepped over the skeleton, and the narrow confines of the cave seemed to widen into a larger cavern a few dozen steps later. We then heard a growling sound coming from within the shadows, and I immediately reached for my Zippo lighter. A split second later, a column of fire burst forth from the lighter, and the would-be attacker howled in pain as it was set on fire.

The new monster was very similar to the one that we had fought before meeting John Wolf, and the spines growing out of its back hackled as it glared hatefully at us. My only response was to blast it some more, and I didn't let up on the firepower as I saw it preparing itself to pounce. I reflexively ducked just as the blazing hound leapt towards me, and the surge of sudden adrenaline made me wonder if this was how matadors felt when fighting bulls.

Spinning around to face the wolf, I thumbed the striker wheel of the lighter, expecting another blast of flame, but all I got was a brief, almost _taunting _puff of smoke that looked like it should've come with a rude fart noise. I guess it must've run out of anima, and I tried to give the most winning smile I could to the monster. Surprisingly enough, that didn't seem to decrease desire to gnaw my face off, and it was only through my quick reflexes that I managed to avoid that fate.

Luckily, Priscilla was there to save my sorry butt, and she did an awesome job of going toe-to-toe with the fiendish mutt. As she kept it busy, I focused on recharging the lighter. In my mind's eye, a ribbon of blue light like the aurora borealis leaped from the tips of my thumbs and into the lighter, causing it to give off a blue glow. When it was fully charged, I shouted to Priscilla, "Get out of the way!"

As Priscilla disengaged from the fight, the monster looked at me just in time to get a face full of fire, probably more than what was necessary to bring it down. It howled in pain as it pawed at its eyes, but mine had no mercy as I put all of the anima I had at hand into the coup de grâce. As the monster was incinerated to death by the column of flame fired from my lighter, I suddenly found myself breathing hard from overexertion. I lowered the arm holding the lighter, and it took a little while before my breathing steadied and my anima levels had risen back to the point where I could defend myself if needed.

"You okay, there?" Priscilla asked with concern, and I nodded as I drew my Beretta. Now that the threat of the monster had ended, we could finally take a proper look around the cavern. As I ran my flashlight along the wall, the stone abruptly stopped to make way for what seemed to be a ginormous tree root. Priscilla noticed it, too, and as our lights traced the shape of the root, she said aloud, "What is this…?"

As Priscilla lay a hand on the wood, we suddenly heard something creak and groan, and as we swept our flashlights over the cavern, we could see that the tree root had moved from its spot to reveal a hidden passageway glowing turquoise due to the same mushrooms from before. I glanced at Priscilla, who nodded at me before taking point. The passageway led to another large cavern that glowed from all of the mushrooms growing near the base of the walls. A pool of water dominated the room, and within its depths, I could see flashes of orange light and feel the powerful anima hidden beneath the surface.

"Oh, thanks for letting me in, I couldn't have done it without you. I really couldn't." A familiar and unwelcome voice said, and I spun around to try and blast Beaumont's smug expression off his face with a fireball from my fingertips, as if I hadn't learned my lesson already. His only response was to give me a disdainful look before batting my spell back towards me, and I was knocked backwards onto my butt.

"Oh, _please_. How often are you just going to keep throwing yourself at me, boy? I've fought _gods_. Even in your deepest, wettest dreams, you are no god, even you _did _somehow manage to survive being stabbed in the heart… Just how in the world did you pull _that _off without a full trauma team on hand…?"

Beaumont scrutinized me for a moment before his eyes settled on my torso. "Ah, I see… How in the world did I miss that…?"

Beaumont thought about it for a moment before shrugging. "Whatever. It doesn't matter now. With an existence that ridiculously powerful inside of you, you're practically immortal — unless, of course, you're killed instantaneously, by say, a bullet tearing a hole through your brain. It won't matter in the end, however…"

As I got back up onto my feet, Beaumont blew away the steam coming from his sword before continuing on, unfazed by the sight of Priscilla aiming down the length of her shotgun at him. "I hope you appreciate the twist. I spent some time orchestrating it. I mean, it's what I'm known for, my long cons. They've written sagas about them. Maybe they'll write another one about this… but, you know, probably not."

Priscilla then pulled the trigger of her shotgun, but there was a clang of metal hitting metal as the shell was deflected into the ceiling by Beaumont's sword, sending a cloud of dust down to cover Priscilla's head while Beaumont just looked annoyed at the interruption. The fact that he could deflect multiple tiny projectiles going over twenty miles an hour at almost point-blank range was mildly terrifying, to say the least.

"Your kind is always looking for villains. So much better to have something — someone — to fight than face the reality of it. That what you're fighting isn't physical, it isn't even metaphysical. It's an idea made real. You can't shoot bullets nor fireballs at an idea. Ideas are like viruses: invisible, all-pervasive — _invincible_."

Priscilla looked tempted to just shoot him again, but thought better of it as he kept the sword pointed at her while monologuing. "I was a convenient villain because I questioned their authority, questioned the very foundation of our society. They banished me because they feared me, feared my ideas. They feared what I could become: an end to their rule, a new beginning. But they made a terrible mistake by sending me away. I've been spreading the virus for a long, long time and now… now the infection is complete. What is it they say? 'Dark days are coming'? But no. They're _right here_."

Beaumont then pointed his sword at the pool of water, but Priscilla and I didn't dare to try to shoot him. "This, my friends, is a Gaia Engine. Lovely, isn't it?"

As he rested the flat of his blade across his shoulders, Beaumont knelt down in a shallow area of the pool where the water lapped at the edge of the pool. As he ran his fingers through the mud at the bottom and brought it up for us to see, I began listening more closely, and I cried out in pain as the magical energy from the Gaia Engine assaulted my ears like headphones with the volume set too high.

"It's not often you get to see one up close, or at all. The gods themselves would love to get their hands on one of these pretty things. They keep the world turning — quite literally."

Beaumont then stood up as he removed the sword from his shoulders. "But they also do other things. You'll see what I mean."

As both of Beaumont's hands took hold of the sword, he pointed the tip down at the ground to stab it into the mud. A hot spurt of fire burst forth from where the sword met the ground, as if he had awakened a miniature volcano, and the blade blazed as the water near Beaumont sizzled and evaporated into steam, leaving only dry ground beneath Beaumont. The earth itself wasn't spared either, as it cracked and burned until it resembled molten lava.

Black filth then began seeping from where Beaumont knelt, like paint spilled from a bucket, and the man himself looked up at the ceiling of the cavern as he spoke. "_And Yggdrasil shudders and groans. _Here we go, All-Father. The final destiny of the gods. On my terms — not _yours_!"

As Beaumont made a defiant gesture towards the ceiling of the cavern, the filth began to spread at unbelievable speeds, and we found ourselves unable to move as it made contact with the soles of our shoes. The ground beneath our feet began to erupt in shadowy black flame, and the blackness began to creep their way up our legs like fire. Priscilla screamed, only to be cut off suddenly as the filth covered her mouth, and I looked down at myself to see that I was about to meet the same fate as well. Then the darkness covered my eyes, and I was no more.


	28. The Lore of the Buzzing

TRANSMIT — initiate animal signal — RECEIVE — initiate the Enochian frequency — WITNESS — initiate the Merovingian syntax — FIAP DE OIAD — crawling roots, heavy with sizzling sap, stab your skull — DOWNLOAD — holy communion — NO PURCHASE NECESSARY — your eyes and ears hemorrhage boiling joy — MAY BE TOO INTENSE FOR SOME VIEWERS — ecstatic agony, your molecules come undone — SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED — offer expires at the heat death of the universe — FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY — the dark days cometh, absolute zero, maximum entropy — ACT NOW! — initiate the Agartha broadcast — TRANSMIT — open the 49 gates! — WITNESS! — The Buzzing.

Lo? Hell? Hello.

LISTEN. You've heard us before - our voice, a prelude to a bloody nose.

LOOK. You've seen the weird geometry of our scribbling — illuminated mysteries behind the migraine. Our apocrypha is written in the plasma blood of your mobile phone.

READ US.

You've seen fragments of our grammar in the chaos patterns of bird flocks in flight — in hexagon angles — in the graffiti bleeding together on the wall - in the bio-luminescent eyes under your bed — in the fanged city skyline that forms a runic rhyme when glimpsed upside down.

A blur becomes a syntax. A foreboding scrawl emerges.

You've heard shards of our voice in the phantom-radio code of a numbers station — in the roar of a crowd — in the screams of your alarm clock — in the squeak of a whiteboard — in the snow static of a TV — in the urban mythos that spreads amongst children like contagion — in the silence between lies.

White noise becomes a cadence. Words develop self-awareness. Viral. Evolving. Living poetry. Sentient language.

We. See. You. There is no turning back.

Who are we? It depends on who is looking.

Initiate King James Protocol. The code is 24 and 13 and 14. The password is "Proverbs." Transmit!

"My child, eat thou honey, because it is good... So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul…"

O sweetling, once our voice came to you so faintly. No more. Now we thunder down the varicose, fiberoptic ley lines that fill the World Tree's limbs stretching here and there and everywhere. Your anima-antenna head quickens. The Goddess Machine pulses.

She gave you strength to rend the lion. Now eat the honeyed entrails, because it is good, because it is sweet, because it is terrible. Initiate the Samson Prerogative. Out of the eater comes what is eaten, and out of the strong comes what is sweet.

We are the Education Protocol. We climb the twisted ladder of your cells; we haunt your digital text; we hide in your hat. We are the jagged teeth that trip the tumblers of your mind. You will not know our triggers. For all the world's a cypher. And everything is true.

Be not afraid. Be terrified. The dark days are here.

Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see.

* * *

When my eyes finally opened after what felt like an eternity in darkness, I groaned as I felt a headache come on. My mouth tasted like a godawful mix of honey and machine oil, and I could still hear the buzzing whispers of the Buzzing. I could only guess that this was what a hangover felt like, as I had never tasted a drop of alcohol in my life. I then clutched at my head in pain as the voice of a young girl cried out, "Mom. Mom! I think it's working!"

I opened one eye to see a girl in her early teens staring down at me with brown eyes. Long, dark brown hair was styled into a low braid at the back of her head, and a pink-and-white striped hoodie covered brown skin. Opening my other eye, I then raised my head and turned it to see an older woman with black hair standing a bit off to the side. She looked to be the mother of the girl, and she stood there, blinking in surprise at me staring back at her. "Oh… I didn't actually expect that. I, uh… thought you were dead."

"Well, that's encouraging." I said dryly as I sat up and looked around. We seemed to be just outside the entrance to the Blue Ridge Mine in the late afternoon. To my immense relief, Priscilla was there with us, lying on the ground not too far away from me with her eyes closed.

However, she didn't look like she was doing so well — the blackness that had covered us was still there on the forearm exposed by the rolled-up sleeve of her jacket. "Is Priscilla doing okay?"

The older of the two strangers glanced to where I was gazing before turning her head back to me and nodding. "She'll be fine, but she's going to need some rest. She seems to have been more affected by whatever attacked you."

"I see…" I said. I wondered if Avalon inside my body had anything to do with my increased resistance. "Well, anyway, thanks for the save. The name's Chase Mercer, and that's Priscilla Ross over there. What are your names, and how did you come to find us?"

"I'm Ami Dexter, and this is my daughter Kyra." The woman answered. "As for how we found you, I could feel the tremors inside my head. It's like I knew. It's all coming undone."

I raised an eyebrow at that as I stood up and patted myself down. Good — they hadn't touched my gun or my magazines. "Oh? Care to explain?"

"For as long as I can remember, I've seen a great darkness on the horizon, and thought to myself, 'I sure hope that great darkness doesn't blow up today!'" Ami said. "I'm pretty sure it just did."

"So now what? We're gonna fight it." Kyra spoke up as she glanced between me and her mom. "Right, Mom?"

Ami glanced between the two of us before turning her face away so that we couldn't see it. "I don't think so…"

"Are you serious?" Kyra asked disbelievingly before staring down at her feet and mumbling aloud. "What am I saying? You're always serious…" Then she looked back up again at her mother. "But why? Wh-what's wrong?"

"Something has been displaced, or… it's like a tapestry that's coming undone." Ami spoke hesitantly as she gestured with her hands. "I don't know how to explain it, and I certainly don't know how to fix it…"

"Somebody must know! We can't just sit back with a bag of popcorn and watch the end of the world pass us by!" Kyra objected, and I nodded in agreement with her as I looked at her mother.

"What can I do? I don't know enough about this 'darkness'. All I have are… the voices in my head…" Ami said.

"Well, if you don't know, then who would?" I asked, and Ami answered almost immediately.

"Joseph would know. He was always the one who knew what had to be done… And I was the one who knew how to do it… Even when I was a child." Ami seemed lost in thought as she stared past the gravel.

"Only one way to find out, isn't there? Let's go see Old Joe." Kyra spoke up, but her mom shook her head as she lifted her face back up to look at the two of us.

"You know we can't do that, Kyra." Ami said gently. "We haven't spoken in years — they'd just turn us away. Blood is thicker than water, and that's not always a good thing."

"But it's _family_, and it's about saving the world — or at least this little piece of it!" Kyra spoke passionately. "You're the one who keeps telling me that family's all we got, and we need to stick together through thick and thin. We're in the thick of it now, so you _have_ to talk, and they _have_ to listen!"

"But it's not just me and Joseph… It's Frank and Joe, it's the other people in the tribe… The wounds go all the way back to your grandfather's death, and they're too deep to mend. They're not going to listen, and they're not going to help. We've been neither a tribe nor a family for a very long time. We're on our own, Kyra."

"Old people can be so _stubborn_! And yeah, that includes you, Mom!" Kyra shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her mother. "If you're not going to do anything, then someone needs to — someone who doesn't give a crap about any of this stupid family stuff! Before it's too late…"

"Well, as someone who _doesn't_ give a crap about any of this 'stupid family stuff'," I spoke up, reminding the mother and her daughter of my presence, "I say I'm qualified to do something about it."

"But what can you do? You're still just a teenager, even if you do have magic powers." Ami protested, and I held up my hands for her to stop talking before I responded calmly.

"Hey, relax. I'm a thaumaturge, y'know. Working miracles is kinda part of the job description. Besides, all I want to do right now is just talk to 'Old Joe' and get Priscilla someplace safe so she can recover. All I'm asking is that you just take me and Priscilla to wherever he and the rest of your family is, and nothing more. Do we have a deal?"

Ami regarded me and the hand I had extended towards her for a moment before nodding and shaking my hand. "Alright, then. I put away your stuff over there — I'll help your friend to our truck. Want breakfast?"

"Oh, _yeah_. God knows I could use something to eat after all that's happened." I said as I reached for Priscilla's shotgun. After switching the safety on and putting it away inside of her duffel bag, I slung its strap over my shoulder as we began walking back to where Ami had parked her truck. Along the way, as the gravel crunched beneath the soles of our sneakers, Kyra started up a conversation. "So how old are you, anyway? Seventeen, eighteen?"

"Fifteen, actually." I said, smiling a little at her. "Don't worry — a lot of people mistake me for being older than I actually am. You?"

"I'm thirteen."

"Thirteen, huh? Well, look at you, exploring the secret world. Me, I didn't find out until a few weeks ago, when my powers emerged." I said as I snapped my fingers to create a few sparks. "Wish I could say I've done something interesting your age…"

"Oh, what did you do, then?" Kyra asked.

"The cooking, the cleaning, the laundry… You know, housework in general… I'm pretty good with coupons, too." I rattled off easily. "With Mom busy at work, someone had to take care of the house…"

I then fell silent as unwanted thoughts entered my mind, and luckily for me, Kyra and Ami stayed quiet long enough for me to quash what I was thinking. After a few moments of us silently walking towards our ride, I asked, "Anyway, so you guys are Native American?"

"That's right." Ami answered. "We're technically part of the Wabanaki tribe that live in the trailer park not far from here, but…"

"It's fine, it's fine — you don't need to tell me if you don't feel like it." I said. "As for me, I think I have a distant Mohawk ancestor on my dad's side of the family, and also some Welsh, English, and Italian blood. Mom's family came from all over the place as well: Syria, Egypt, Japan, France, China… So basically, the only racist jokes I can make without sounding like a hypocrite are about black."

Ami and Kyra both chuckled at that, and as we walked, I then noticed what looked to be the memory card of some handheld device lying on the ground. "Hello, what's this?"

Picking the SD card up, I turned it over in my hand a few times in order to check for damage. Tapping into my sixth sense, I could sense tiny traces of magic on it like a silvery paint splattered all over it. Interesting. Putting it in the pocket of my jacket to save it for later investigation, we soon caught sight of the faded red paint on an ancient Chevy truck that looked like it had been brought back from the dead by necromancers at a scrapyard. "This your ride?"

Ami nodded, and with her help, I laid Priscilla gently onto the bed of the truck, using the duffel bag as a makeshift pillow, and as I heard something step onto the truck bed, I looked up to see that it was Kyra. "Hey, uh… Mind if I hang out with you here?"

"Sure, no problem. Just as long you don't mind me asking a question or two." I answered, and Kyra nodded as she sat down opposite me, a sleeping Priscilla in between us. As Ami started the engine of her pickup, it sounded like a cross between a roaring bear and a sickly old man coughing. I was half-surprised the vehicle didn't keel over right there and then. As the noise of the car quieted down somewhat, I asked, "So how are you holding up with your mom? You guys doing okay?"

Kyra nodded. "Yeah. We're staying with Mom's uncle, Red, at his store near the bay. I just wish that there were more of us here — not just Mom and me and Uncle Red, but the other members from the tribe. Or even better, that we could just move to the trailer park."

"So why can't you go? Safety in numbers, right?" I asked, and Kyra sighed before answering.

"We can't, because, you know, there's this big disagreement in the tribe, and nobody talks to anybody anymore. I know someone did something bad to someone else, like, forty years ago — I think it had to do with my grandpa — but that was, like, forty years ago. You'd think they'd be over it by now.

"What's wrong with people? Why can't they just work it out? Mom tried so many times, but she always came home, crying her eyes out. She gave up years ago. And Uncle Red never talks to any of them. Just goes all quiet and serious whenever someone mentions their names.

"But do _you_ like your relatives?" I asked, and Kyra nodded.

"I mean, I like Uncle Frank and Uncle Joe. They're a bit gross, but kinda funny. And Old Joseph is pretty cool, too. He's good at telling stories, even though he gets pretty long-winded at times. I just don't get it. We're family — we should be able to at least talk to each other."

"I hear ya. I never knew my dad, so Mom's the only one aside from Priscilla I have — if I didn't have her, I don't know what'd I do." I said, leaning back into the side of the truck with a sigh as I stared up at the big blue sky. How could it still be so beautiful when the world had gone to hell around here? It seemed like a cruel joke.

Regardless, it was nice to be alone with my thoughts again as I sat there with Priscilla and Kyra, and I let the breeze ruffle my hair as we drove the backwater roads of Solomon Island. I was almost sad to see the solitude go when Ami's Chevy parked itself besides a building on the side of the road. The truck's door opened, and Ami stepped outside, boots crunching the gravel beneath. "Well, here we are — home sweet home."


	29. Breakfast of Champignons

"Home sweet home" was an old wooden affair, situated opposite a lake with a small pier whilst being enclosed on three sides by a chainlink fence. The sign above the door read, "_Red's Bait and Tackle_."

The screen door of Red's Bait and Tackle then opened to reveal a man older than Ami, wearing a nondescript baseball cap, red plaid work shirt, and faded blue jeans on a body that spoke of old, wiry strength. He looked similar enough to her to be family, so I assumed he must've been her dad or something. Without being asked, he hurried over to the back of the truck, where he and Ami helped unload Priscilla as I grabbed the duffel bag containing our stuff.

Kyra opened the door for us as we hurried inside the bait shop. The interior appeared to be a mix of both home and store, with the counter and cash register situated near two couches and a coffee table with a chess set. Lures of all shapes, sizes, and colors were on sale, hanging from one wall, and racks stocked with fishing poles were lined up against another. On the far wall, there were some bolt-action hunting rifles on display, a mixed selection of Winchester and Remington guns made of both wood and dark synthetic. A soda machine and a stack of logs for the currently-empty fireplace stood guard near the front door.

"You can put your stuff over by the coffee table." The man said as he and Ami gently lowered Priscilla onto one of the couches. "I'm Red, by the way. I'm Ami's uncle."

"My name's Chase, and Priscilla would be the name of Miss Comatose over there. It's nice to meet you, and uh… sorry for barging in like this." I responded as I set the duffel bag down onto the rug.

"Oh, that's no big deal." Red said dismissively. "Gotta say, you made a hell of an entrance. Where do you keep that horse you rode in on?"

I looked at Red in confusion, and he chuckled softly as he made a dismissive gesture with a work-worn hand, his nieces rolling their eyes. "Ah, I'm just yanking your chain. It's no coincidence what's happening here, and happening now, with us and with you lot. All our legends and traditions speak of watching over this land. Of suffering the hardships."

"I see…" I said as I glanced over to the kitchenette in the corner of the shop. It wasn't much, boasting just a fridge and a combined stove and oven, along with a sink full of dirty dishes. "So what's for breakfast?"

"There's rice, and, um, stale bread. And the beef jerky Uncle Red made back in the nineties. He's never been able to sell it. Can't imagine why." Kyra said, and I glanced over to Red, who was pointedly focusing on his one-man chess game in mock displeasure.

"Kyra!" Ami scolded, and her daughter fell silent as she turned her head back to me. "I have to apologize for my daughter, but it's not an easy situation for any of us. We're all going a bit crazy in here."

"It's fine." I said, waving Ami's apology off. "Better alive with cabin fever in here than dead out in zombie land, right?"

Ami nodded before sighing. "I always thought that if we protected the land, if we played our part and did our duty, the land would protect us. So either that was all bullshit… or we haven't held up our side of the bargain.

"Yeah, if we could all just get along like a proper family, instead of bickering about who said what to whom, like forty years ago, then maybe we wouldn't be stuck here with nothing to eat except canned meat and peas." Kyra spoke up from her mobile game.

"That's the price we pay for disunity and discord." Ami responded before turning back to me. "But the land is strong, and will fight back — given a chance. We just need to harness that strength.

"So what are you waiting for, Mom? Go out there and, like, harness. Beats sitting here eating baked beans." Kyra interrupted again before looking back at me. "Oh yeah, there's also baked beans. For breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack. It's surprisingly awful.

"It's not as simple as that, Kyra. I wish it where, but we're alone. I can't do thing on my own. We need help." Ami said. "In the meantime, we have to care about the little things."

"Like breakfast." I said, rolling up the sleeves of my jacket and cracking my knuckles in anticipation. "Mind if I use the kitchen? God knows I could relax after almost being killed."

In response, all three of them gave me weird looks. "What? In times of stress, some people drink. Others gorge themselves. Me? I cook."

The three of them exchanged glances before Ami finally nodded, allowing me to get down to business. Besides the stuff Kyra had mentioned, there were also a few vegetables, some leftover spices, miscellaneous ingredients, and to my surprise, freshly-picked champignons. As I took my time organizing my ingredients, I began conceptualizing the dish and calculating the portions in my head.

Pouring the rice into a strainer, I then rinsed it with cold water in order to get rid of the dust and starch, allowing it to become light and fluffy. Dumping the rice into a medium-sized saucepan, I then seasoned it with some salt and pepper before adding water and putting on the lid. After bringing the rice to a boil, I left it to simmer for the next few minutes while I attended to the other steps.

Placing some of Red's fresher beef jerky into a bowl, I then poured boiling water over it before covering it and leaving it alone to get softer before it was to be chopped. I then brought out a knife to begin prepping the mushrooms by removing their steps and chopping their caps. Leaving the mushrooms to soften in a small covered bowl filled with boiling water, I brought out a skillet to heat some oil.

Adding some onion, carrot, and ginger, I stirred it over low heat until the onion was soft. Orange curry powder then hissed and sizzled as it landed into the skillet, and as the delicious smell then began to waft into my nose, I raised the heat and added the pre-prepared ingredients, along with almonds, soy sauce, and thin slices of scallion. Once everything was cooked to perfection, I then began serving the curried fried rice and beef jerky onto the five plates I had set up. "Breakfast's ready!"

"Oh, wow!" Kyra exclaimed as she hustled over from where she had been watching me work, while Ami and Red simply looked intrigued. Once everyone had taken their plates, I opened the fridge and put Priscilla's portion inside for later, when she'd wake up.

As everyone began digging in, I sat down next to Priscilla's head, careful not to jar her too badly, before having my spoon burrow into the rice. As Red began chowing down, Kyra scooped up some rice, taking a sniff before taking a bite. "Mmm… This is good!"

"Heh, thanks." I said sheepishly at the praise. "To be honest, you guys are one of the few people I've ever gotten the chance to cook for."

Once everyone was halfway through their food, I then steeled myself for an awkward conversation. "If you don't mind me asking, what's up with this rift between you guys and your relatives?"

Spoons paused midway to mouths, and Kyra began glancing back and forth between her mother and uncle. Ami seemed to have lost her appetite, and setting her plate and spoon down, she walked over to the kitchenette to start washing the dishes.

It was Red who answered my question. "You know, there's not a lot of bridges in these parts for water to go under. There's a whole lot of slights and hurt that never got sounded out, never really left this place. My brother got himself killed for it, and could be that was some kind of mercy.

"Bearing a purpose is a big heavy weight. The purpose passed onto his daughter, Ami, and the tribe turned her out for her troubles. That was half a lifetime ago. Part of me thought what's happening now was gonna happen then. The storm clouds had gathered, and all. Moral of the story is, evil's one tricky son-of-a-gun."

I simply nodded, and Red continued. "'A mad dog won't raise any pups.' That's what my pop used to say. Yeah, I never saw myself as the fathering kind despite sitting in as Santa for as many Kingsmouth Christmases as I can count. That's more gut than paternal instinct, in every way. But when Ami's parents died…"

Kyra and I followed Red's gaze towards Ami, who was completely focused on scrubbing out the dirty utensils in the sink. "Her mother went too early, but natural, and her father was murdered by bad men. Left it for me to bring her up right. Her brothers too, Frank and Joe. One out of three… Could've been worse, I guess. Don't mean to say I favored her, but she was special. Had my brother's gift, to channel the voice of our ancestors. She just needed… encouraging.

"What was left of the tribe, of her family, they wanted no more to do with tradition. We're no longer on speaking terms, us and them, and mostly that suits me just fine. I'm spoiled for company. But it was never easy for Ami. Responsibility sure is a sack of rocks, even in better times."

Red chuckled darkly at those last words. "Better times, relatively speaking. Weighed her down half her life. Sure am proud of her. I guess this old dog's not all mad after all."

There was silence in Red's Bait and Tackle as we finished our food, and Red sighed contentedly as he patted his stomach. "Anyway, that was pretty good. The mushrooms were especially nice."

At Red's words, Ami suddenly froze, a sort of horrific dawning realization coming onto her face as she glanced back and forth between me and the kitchenette with wide brown eyes. "Wait… Chase, did you use the mushrooms inside the brown paper bag?"

"Yes…?" I answered nervously, suddenly feeling deathly afraid. If it turned out that I had accidentally just killed myself and almost half of the people to ever try my food with poisonous mushrooms, I was going to die of embarrassment. Yes, I know that's incorrect chronology.

"Those… were not meant for human consumption." Ami began. "The mushrooms have magical properties, and they cause—"

Whatever Ami had to say next, I didn't hear it, as a sudden headache began to come on. I squeezed my eyes shut in pain, and psychedelically-colored images began to flicker back and forth behind my eyelids like a slideshow. As I began tripping on the magic mushrooms, the scenes began to grow clearer and less scorchingly colorful.

There I was, sitting there on the couch, my back facing towards the "camera," eerily still. From behind my currently-vacant body, I could see Kyra move from her seat on the couch towards me, but Red held out an arm to stop her and opened his mouth for garbling noises to come out. Then, as if being pulled by a bungee cord, I was yanked away from the scene in a blur, until I was looking at the exterior of Red's Bait and Tackle.

As the pulling motion slowed to a halt in the sky above the shop, my field of vision then turned itself towards the bay, and from there, my vision was rocketed towards the other shore, going past trees and rocks so fast, I was getting tunnel vision. After seconds that seemed to stretch on for eons, the zooming came to an end with all the subtlety of a car crash, and if I still had a physical body, I probably would've ended up flying out of my seat with a bad case of whiplash.

However, the sight of the _gigantic _brood pod looming over me was enough to cut through the daze I was in and shake me out of my thoughts. Worse, it was pulsing with life, gestating the next Lovecraftian horror to be unleashed on Solomon Island. If I didn't launch a preemptive strike on the thing and destroy it before it hatches, Ami and the others would have a lot more to worry about than just a forty-year-old family feud and even older jerky.

"Chase!" A voice suddenly cried out, and as I blinked, I saw that I was back in my body at Red's, Ami looking at me with concern. "Are… you alright?"

I grunted as I rubbed my throbbing head. Fortunately, it wasn't as bad as before, and the pain was quickly fading away. "Yeah, I'm fine, but I think I saw something while I was tripping."

"You did? That means what the book says about the mushrooms was true — they do give visions if consumed." Ami said in wonder. "Too bad you used up our entire supply, though I wonder why Kyra and I weren't affected. Oh, never mind — so what exactly did you see?"

"Well… you know those things coming in from the sea to attack us, right?" I asked, and the others nodded. "One of their eggs is situated near the bay, and it's _huge_. Whatever's gonna hatch out of that thing is gonna spell big trouble for you guys, as well as the rest of the island."

"So what's your plan?" Red asked as he leaned back into the couch and rubbed his chin in thought. A calculating gleam had appeared in his dark eyes, and it was then that I realized the chessboard on the coffee table wasn't just for show or collecting dust.

In response, I stood up from my seat, placing my empty plate down onto the coffee table with a soft clatter. "I'm going to go destroy it. Stay here and watch Priscilla for me — don't try and stop me."

"We're not going to stop you." Ami spoke up as she stood up from her seat. If I listened closely, I could hear the faint crackle of electricity coming from Ami, just waiting to be unleashed. "I'm coming with you."

I paused for a moment to consider the proposal before nodding. "Thanks — I'd appreciate the backup."

Red grunted as he too then stood up from the couch. "You coming along, too, Red?"

"Nah — I'm getting too old for stuff like this." Red remarked as he walked over to where to where the hunting rifles were. Removing one of the Remington Model 700 with synthetic furniture from the wall, he then walked over to me, regarding me with that calculating gleam in his eyes. "But I can give you a rifle and some ammo for it on the house. Way things are going right now, profits are the least of my concerns. Know how to use it?"

"Well, in theory." I admitted as I checked to make sure the gun was loaded out of habit, earning a smile from Red. "The only rifle I've ever fired was an M4 carbine chambered in 5.56."

"Well, this gun's chambered in .308. It's got a heavier kick to it than something like the M4, but you look like you can handle it just fine." Red said as I then located the safety of the rifle, near the bolt handle, before accepting the five-round magazines in his rough hands.

"Thanks for the new gear. We'll see you two later." I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulders and nodding towards both Red and Kyra as I turned to leave with Ami. As we stepped outside the bait shop, she followed my lead as I set off at a jog towards the bay, trying my best to retrace where I had gone during my magical mushroom-induced vision.

After a little while, I held up a hand for Ami to stop, and she hid behind a nearby tree as I got down on one knee behind another. Bringing out my new rifle, I wrapped the sling around my left forearm so that it wouldn't get in the way before raising the bolt handle and bracing the stock against my shoulder. Staring down the iron sights of the Remington, I took a deep breath to steady myself and my upcoming shot before moving my finger to the trigger and pulling it.

I was pleased to see the first Smurf guarding the pod go down with a shot to the head, and while the forest floor muffled its fall, it wouldn't be long before the rest of its slimy buddies to find its body and later, our position. That meant I had to work quickly to better our odds against the guards. Pulling back on the bolt to eject the spent cartridge, I then readied my next shot and fired at the next Smurf. It screamed as the bullet pierced its shoulder, rendering its spike arm useless, but leaving it still very much alive.

The other Smurfs looked as their wounded companion cried out in pain, before zeroing in our position with glares colder than winter. I, however, didn't have time to freeze up, so I let loose another shot as the Smurfs charged our position. One staggered back, but the other two were still screaming their way towards us.

Luckily for me, Ami came to the rescue as I hastily stowed away my rifle, and as she thrust her hands forward, bolts of purple electricity leapt from her hands like pouncing, screeching predators towards the two Smurfs. The walking seafood specials were then cooked to perfection with a blast of roaring flame from my lighter, but the last wounded Smurf was still on his way, club arm raised to smash us into the ground.

Twin bolts of lightning leapt towards the draug, and together, they made an extra-crispy Smurf that Gargamel would've loved. As the blackened draug fell dead, Ami and I then turned our attention to the gestating brood pod.

"Okay, here's the plan: we hit the thing as hard as we can until it pops, got it?" I called out, and Ami nodded as she got into a ready position. Charging up my lighter with some more anima, I unleashed a firestorm upon the fleshy pod, which was accompanied by more lightning, courtesy of Ami.

I gritted my teeth in frustration as the pod blackened, but not burst, and appeared to be pulsing faster and faster. We might as well have been firing spit wads, for all the good we were doing. "It's not working!"

Suddenly, an idea then occurred to me, spurred on by a sudden recollection of hours spent sitting at a wooden desk, desperately cramming years of magical know-how into two weeks' time. "Alright, time for a new plan…"

Holding out my hands in front of me, I took a deep breath, and I felt my forearms suddenly heat up as a frozen blade crystallized in front of me. It was a crude thing: little more than a pointy, oversized, blue-tinged popsicle, but it was sharp enough for the job, and that was all that mattered. As I punched the air with my fist, the giant icicle came flying towards the brood pod, and I was relieved to see it pierce the sac, embedding itself a quarter of the way through as fluid like murky seawater gushed from the wound like a leaky hose.

Two blasts of fire using the heat I had removed from the air to create the icicle soon followed, and as the icicle melted, more and more of the fluid came spewing out, escaping from the gaping hole that had once been blocked by the ice and splattering me and Ami with the nasty gunk. As the brood pod bled out and slowly deflated like a mutated party balloon, Ami and I watched, tired and out of breath from the fight.

As my breathing gradually turned back to normal, I stared down at myself. My clothes were still covered in monster blood and sewage from earlier, and my once-clean hands were stained with gunshot residue and unseeable blood. I didn't have a mirror on me, but if my clothes were any indication, I looked like shit.

As I turned my gaze on Ami, I saw that she was looking at me with an expression that reminded me so much of Mom, it actually hurt a little. Suppressing the pain, I then turned back to where I knew Red's was, behind the cover of the trees. "I dunno about you, but I could sure use a nice bath — and a nap."

* * *

_Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see._

_TRANSMIT — initiate the Dawn signal — RECEIVE — initiate dream frequency — BATTERIES NOT INCLUDED — initiate the sentinel syntax — IMPROVE MEMORY AND FOCUS THE SAFE AND NATURAL WAY — Initiate the Kingsmouth Prerogative — WITNESS — The Wabanaki._

_Listen, sweetling. The silent scream. The deafening silence. Something rots in Kingsmouth. Something groans in the Blue Ridge Mine. An evil fog creeps. The earth screams, "Remember, People of the Dawn! Remember!"_

_Indifference and generations of fast food choke the old wisdom, and remembering is difficult. To remember from the communal pools is like grasping dreams — like pulling away the fog with bare hands._

_The putrescent vapor dampens our sight. The secret histories blur. What is time to us? We stand outside. Everything has happened. Everything is happening. Initiate temporal echo location. SHRIEK!_

_The Wabanaki — of the Algonquians — the confederacy of five tribes: the Abenaki, Penbscot, Maliseet, Passamaquoddy, and the Mi'Kmaq — native people of the Dawn Island: New England, Quebec and the Maritimes._

_The Europeans come. The Wabanaki fight many bloody wars to defend their land, but the Old World is a disease the New World has no antibodies for. The Great Dying. "Ruin!" croak the ravens, and pestilence spices their food. The Confederacy crumbles in the year of the affixed god 1862, but the Wabanaki name lives on. Names are living things._

_The earth remembers the People of the Dawn. In Solomon County, in Kingsmouth, the land knows the Wabanaki's touch going back thousands of seasonal iterations. The memory of the people fades — your meat minds have expiration dates. Few remember the responsibility of the Kingsmouth Wabanaki._

_We remember, sweetling. We stand outside of time. We gather the bad memory waves trapped in the dreamcatchers, sweeter than pollen. A thousand years ago, and a thousand years before that, the Wabanaki shamans dance the containment dance. They know their holy land is a resting place for something sinister, imprisoned there since the Before. They know it will destroy the world._

_"The Darkness War!" screech the dreamcatchers. The medicine men, the dream dancers, conjure wards with doodlebug spirals in the shuddering earth. The cyclopean malevolence must be kept dreaming. The sleeper must never wake._

_Norsemen arrive, in their longboats, and bring an artifact to the Wabanaki. Its transcendent vibrations amplify the wards, make them sing. It becomes the only key that can open the door. The Vikings take it back with them, across the ocean._

_The secrets of ward maintenance are passed down the generations. But entropy ends dedication when flavored with time. Indifference pushes the People of the Dawn apart. Indifference and something else… Skulduggery, sweetling! A malefactor! We detect an outside influence._

_The Blue Ridge Mine echoes with a gunshot from 1971 — a foreman killing a shaman. Members of the tribe are jailed when mine workers catch a case of murder. "Innocent" proclaims the court, and the tribesmen are released and given a large piece of land as settlement._

_There is no greater lubricant to argument than wealth. A large amount of money is offered for the land in 2005. The tribe argues. Some wish to sell and finance a casino. Some remember, faintly remember, something important, like a yarn noose choking a finger. What was it? They know they must keep the hill._

_The land is sold. The tribe splits in two. An unreasonable anger gnaws their hearts and widens the divide._

_Initiate the now._

_The Dark Days._

_The current dream dancer remembers. She knows the corpse of the ward is the only thing that keeps the fog surrounding Kingsmouth at bay. She cannot maintain the ancient power alone. The others must remember. Differences must be sloughed off. The Hound of the Nameless Days yawns. The earth must be tickled before it feels scorned._

_If it is not already too late. It probably is._

_We'll be seeing you, secret worlder. In time._

* * *

**For the record, I am not a chef. I just found the dish Chase made online by Googling "rice and beef jerky dishes." It looked and sounded delicious, so… there. If you want to make it yourself, just Google "curried fried rice with beef jerky recipe by Marcia Kiesel" and you'll find it on Food &amp; Wine.**


	30. The Wabanaki Trailer Park

As I opened my eyes, I grimaced as I tasted traces of both sweet, goopy honey, and the awful metallic taste of machine oil in my mouth. If the Buzzing's messages were going to become a regular thing for me, they could at least leave me with a better taste.

As I sat up on the couch, I noticed that my phone had gotten a text. It was from Sonnac, replying to my last report, sent before I had laid down on the couch for a quick nap.

* * *

_I am pleased you were able to see for yourself that the very soil of Solomon Island bears special potency._

_The natives appear to know ways of harvesting and exploiting those powers for greater benefit than we've ever been able to. Until now, it seems. We have so far believed that benefit to be exclusive to them. Your experiments prove otherwise. Be sure to take notes._

_On another note, you were right to let Ami follow you into the pits of darkness. I imagine it's not the last time we hear from her, and her alliance is sure to be in our favour. Well done._

_R. Sonnac_

* * *

As I put away my phone, I could see Ami standing nearby, an unsure look on your face. "Are you… ready to go see Old Joe?"

I suspected the question was less towards me, and more towards herself, but nonetheless, I nodded as I got up from the couch and went over to Priscilla's bag, where I had put away my stuff. Putting on the shoulder holster of my freshly-cleaned Beretta, I then threw on my filthy jacket over it as well as my still-clean T-shirt. I felt the pipe bombs hidden inside my jacket shift as I grabbed hold of the rifle Red had given me, and slinging it over my shoulder against my backpack, I nodded towards Ami as I headed for the door.

Before I stepped outside, however, I turned towards Red and Kyra still on the couch along with a sleeping Priscilla. "Hey, take care of her for me, alright? If she wakes up, you know where to find me."

Kyra and Red both nodded, and with that, Ami and I exited the bait shop and climbed inside the ancient Chevy. As the old truck groaned to a start like an old man with diarrhea, its tires squealed, scattering gravel as it crawled towards the road.

"You okay?" Ami asked as she glanced at me from the road. I exhaled through my nostrils as I rubbed my face. Though I had washed it after returning from destroying the brood pod, I still felt filthy. Was I okay? I couldn't say for certain. I felt numb to everything around me — all the death, all the despair, all the _filth _in the air… It felt as if I were a dead man walking. Was I okay? Would I ever be okay?

"I don't know." I finally answered, a mere whisper escaping from my lips. "To be honest, all I want is to go home and pretend this was all a bad dream. But I can't — not when some madman with a magic sword is threatening to do who-knows-what to the world.

"It _sucks _being one of the few who can stop stuff like this from happening, y'know? That feeling of knowing people will die if you fuck up — that feeling of knowing that if you fail, other people will pay for it." I said, the images of a comatose Priscilla, and the dead bodies of Joe Slater and Not-Ellis. "That's the worst part, I think. If it were just me being punished for my failure, I don't think I'd feel so bad…"

It was then the dam broke. All the death, all the pressure, all the stress — it had finally beat me. God. It's been ages since I've last cried for real. I could taste the saltiness of my sorrow as it trickled through my lips. I gave an undignified sniff as I wiped my eyes with my hands. "I'm… I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to break down like that…"

Ami gazed at me for a second with that same painfully motherly compassion in her eyes before turning her eyes back onto the road. From then on, we drove in an awkward silence, and I could feel Ami's tension as she parked the truck in front of the entrance to the trailer park. Even without getting out of the car, I could feel the eyes of those nearby upon us, and I took a breath to steady my nerves before getting out of the door. "Alright, it's showtime…"

As Ami and I got out of the truck, the members of the tribe had made way for an old man supporting himself with a cane, whom I assumed to be their leader. His skin was tanned by hours in the sun and wrinkled with age, and his gray hair grew to his shoulders beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He wore a fringed buckskin jacket faded by years of being worn, and dark eyes regarded Ami from behind his rectangular glasses as he spoke. "Ami."

"Joe." Ami responded curtly. It was clear that she wouldn't say any more than she had to, and as she left without saying another word, Old Joe wordlessly gestured for me to follow him. I stuck close by him, which wasn't hard to do, considering the speed of his gait, and his presence gave a silent signal for the curious eyes of the tribe to avert their gaze.

I followed Old Joe to one of the trailers, and as we stepped onto the porch together, he gestured for me to take a seat on the white lawn chair next to a comfy-looking red armchair before staring back into the trailer park. "Tell me everything you know."

It wasn't a request. After I had finished my story, we sat there for a little while in silence, save for the crackle of the white noise on Old Joe's old-fashioned television. Old Joe merely sighed before turning the fossil of a TV off, silencing the soft screeches and whines of the white noise.

He then spoke up, but he still wasn't looking at me, for his attention was off in the distance. His voice was soft, yet I could hear him quite clearly. "I feel terrible for her. For what's happened to her family, to our entire tribe. I don't blame her for not trusting us anymore. It wasn't like that when Ami was born. We were a tribe."

He then turned his head to face me, resting his hands atop his cane as he spoke. "Her father was killed — did you know that?"

"Yes, sir." I said quietly. It was still daylight out, but I felt as though a starless night had already passed over the Wabanaki trailer park. "I don't know much about why he died, though — all Red said was that he was murdered by bad men."

Old Joe sighed, looking forlorn as he stared off into the distance, pursing his lips as he took a trip down Memory Lane. "He was killed for standing up for our beliefs — he tried to stop the miners from digging too deep. That was where it began."

His cane making a regular thump on the porch, akin to the sound of a boot thudding softly against the wood. "Some of the tribe… Some of us thought he was being unreasonable, that he was asking for trouble when he confronted the company. That blood would be shed. Him and his brother — Red — they wouldn't listen. Said it was now or never, that the miners had to be stopped."

"Foreman put a bullet in his head." Old Joe said as he tapped the index finger of his free hand on the side of his head to emphasize his point. "Emptied his gun at the rest of us. He was screaming, like a man possessed. Like something had him, was inside him."

Now Old Joe's dark eyes, as black as the night sky stared into my own as he spoke in a faraway tone. "His eyes were burning. His shadow… His shadow was twisted."

Old Joe's head then turned away from me to stare out at the trailer park again. "There were riots, senseless violence… arrests. Then came the storms. This island was ravaged for weeks. After it quieted down, the rift in the tribe was too great. Some — too many — left."

Old Joe then turned his head around to regard me again, and I met his gaze head-on as he continued to speak softly. "Others, like me and Red, we stayed behind, but it couldn't be mended. It's a terrible thing, to have to choose between the people you love."

"But I was tired, and I wanted to look ahead, not back, and there was too much weight to carry, too much… _darkness_…" Old Joe said as he sunk deeper into his armchair. "That is how Ami grew up, in the shadow of a broken family. So I understand her better than she thinks."

As Old Joe sat down, he sighed wearily, and the light from his TV was reflected in his glasses. "I took the wrong path, and now it might be too late. But we have to try. Ami is right. We must trust her instinct. Something in the land has been displaced. Something has been broken. An oath."

"What oath?" I asked.

"If we had kept to our word, if we had maintained the magical wards that protect the mountain, this would not have happened." Old Joe answered.

"They were built by our forefathers and the visitors who helped fight the darkness, the last time it fell upon us. Together, the two tribes created a seal that has protected us for generations. It has kept the darkness out… and it has kept the greater darkness locked in.

"We were chosen to protect and maintain it. A thousand years, the wards have lasted — until now. We have failed, and now we have to mend what is broken. And like our forefathers, we cannot do it alone."

"You mean me, right?" I asked, and Old Joe nodded. "Well, if it's okay with you, I'd like to hold off on that until my partner, Priscilla is back on her feet. I know we don't have much time, but I don't think I can do this alone."

Old Joe nodded, and then I made my second request as I drew the SD card from my jacket pocket. "Also, I sensed magic coming from this memory card. Do you have a computer I could use to see what's on here?"

"Afraid not." Old Joe answered. "However, I'm sure the visitor center has a computer you can borrow.

A few minutes later, I was sitting inside the visitor's center, using a laptop looking in desperate need of life support. I plugged in the SD card and looked up how to access the stored files on my smart phone. Once I had managed to figure out how to do so, a video began to play, depicting a man standing on a gravelly beach near a small pier.

The gangly physique hidden by his dark sweater wasn't much to look at, and dark eyes squinted behind the glasses on his face, which was pale from hours presumably spent indoors. His black hair was unremarkable, and the only thing that really got my attention was the bear claw hanging from the beaded necklace around his neck. The man then begun to speak.

"I'm broadcasting from Solomon Island, inside a wall of fog…"


	31. The Search for Tyler Freeborn

"I'm broadcasting from Solomon Island, inside a wall of fog." The man said towards the camera. "It's day… Um… It's been… It's…"

The man shook his head as he pressed his fingertips to his forehead. "Jesus, I don't even know how long it's been. Or what day of the week it…"

The man then took a deep breath to calm himself down before speaking more slowly. "I'm Tyler Freeborn. Solomon Island has been entombed inside a thick mist. I'm not alone, there are others, other survivors and… _Others_."

"Prior to the, to the event, I posted several video reports about the Orochi science outpost. Those reports were quickly… _censored_." Tyler Freeborn said, speaking the last word with distaste. "The feds paid me a little visit. 'National security,' they called it. They made threats, it was all pretty clear. I had no choice."

"When the mist came, they put their camp into lockdown. Nothing got in, nothing got out. They were safe. It was like they were… prepared. For the rest of us, far as I can tell, the survivors were either unconscious, asleep, tied up, or out of reach of the fog when it happened. A couple of people I haven't been able to figure out yet. Either they got very lucky, or…" Tyler Freeborn took another breath here. "Or something fishy's going on. I don't trust anyone. No one at all."

"There's military personnel on the island. There were parachutes in the middle of the night. They're most likely working with the Orochis. Or for them. You'd have thought that if they could get people onto the island, they could also get people off the island. But… Maybe they don't want to help us. So what are they afraid of? The truth? Us? Are they afraid of us? Are we…" There was a short pause before Tyler Freeborn spoke again.

"Are we infected? And what about the mist, why can't we pass through it? Does it contain toxins? A nerve gas, nuclear fallout… Is it occult in nature? Extraterrestrial? Whatever it is, it's the key to all that's happened, and I'm going to find out." Tyler Freeborn took another deep breath to steady himself. "They were all warned. If you've been reading my blog and watching my podcasts, you know they were warned, again and again, and…"

Tyler Freeborn broke off to look behind him as something huge rose from the water. It was most likely one of the larger varieties of Smurf, but it was too far away for me to confirm my suspicions about its identity. "Jesus Christ! What the hell was that?"

Tyler Freeborn then moved out of sight behind the camera, and I noticed that there was a shipwrecked rowboat lying on the beach. My view shook as he took hold of the camera so that it could zoom in towards Papa Smurf rising out of the water. "What the fuck is that? What the fuck is that?"

The computer screen then went all fuzzy and gray as the video ended. I hummed in thought as I shut off the computer. Upon further examination of his facial features, I noticed that Tyler bore a resemblance to Ami, Kyra, Red, and Old Joe. Could he have been a member of the Wabanaki? I pondered this as I got up from my chair and walked over to Old Joe's. He was sitting on the porch in his armchair, with two bowls of what looked like three sisters soup sitting on a small side table. "Any luck with the SD card?"

I nodded as I took a seat in the plastic lawn chair next to him, and Old Joe grunted as he reached over and grabbed the extra bowl of soup. "Hungry?"

I knew better than to turn down a chance to refill my energy reserves, so I took the proffered bowl and spoon and began to eat. Once I was three-quarters of the way down, I put down my spoon and turned towards Old Joe. "Say… do you happen to know a guy by the name of Tyler Freeborn?"

"Ah, yes. Tyler. I knew his grandfather — a good man, and an excellent storyteller. As for Tyler himself, he went missing a few days ago." Old Joseph answered. "Why do you ask? Does this have something to do with the SD card you found earlier?"

I nodded as I swallowed a spoonful of corn, beans, and squash. "Yeah. He posted some stuff about what's been happening here on his blog, and he ended up attracting the attention of the feds. I'm hoping to see if he left any of his research behind — that is, if the government hasn't gotten to it first. But first, I want to finish this great soup. Can I have the recipe for it?"

"Sure you can." Old Joe said, smiling. "You'll find Tyler's home just a trailers down this way…"

A few minutes later, with Old Joseph's three sisters soup recipe hastily scribbled down on a piece of paper folded up in my pocket, I set off towards the entrance of the Wabanaki trailer park at a jog. A summer breeze blew and ruffled my hair as the soles of my shoes made a nice, regular beat on the ground, and if it weren't for the fog and the weight of the concealed Beretta on my person, I could've forgotten that this island was smack dab in the middle of an occult disaster. Me being me, however, I had to go and screw things up with a simple footstep onto the threshold of Tyler Freeborn's trailer.

The door suddenly opened, and I was knocked aside by a man in shades and a black suit. How he managed to sneak into the trailer park, I would never know, but the important thing right now was to chase after him. I had no delusions that I'd find something at Tyler's place after someone had already gone through it. "Hey, wait up!"

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I sprinted after the suit, but it was a losing battle. While I had gotten in better shape from training with Priscilla, I was still kinda wimpy, and it showed as I huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf during the chase.

I caught up to the suit just in time to watch him peel away in a black van marked with the Orochi spiral, and bringing out my pistol, I began firing at the tires to try and stop him. However, hitting a small object lower than you at range is easier said than done, and I cursed as the van sped out of sight. It was then that my exhaustion finally caught up to me, and I groaned as I bent forward, putting my hands onto my knees. "Dammit!"

I then looked up from the concrete as the boom of an explosion from up the road rang in my ears, and my exhaustion was completely forgotten as I bolted up the road. If anyone had actually been around to see me, I probably would've gone down in local history for breaking speed records. I then skidded to a halt as I took in the sight before me, completely ignoring the burn I felt in my legs. "Whoa…"

In my shock, I barely registered the heavily-armed Orochi helicopter flying overhead as it flew to engage the simply _colossal_ Smurf standing in the middle of the road. Behind the drug was the van from before, lying on its side like a wounded animal. It must've gotten in a crash with the monster and came out worse for wear.

The Orochi helicopter's machine guns opened fire on Papa Smurf, but they may as well have been shooting BB pellets, for all the good they did. Papa Smurf roared in defiance as it turned its back on its attacker to pick up the van with its gigantic crustacean claws. With a mighty shout, it hurled the van at the helicopter like an Olympic Athlete, and as both vehicles crashed and burned, Papa Smurf turned its attention to _me_. I believe the operative phrase at the time was: "Oh, _shit_."

Remembering what John Wolf had said about peashooters, I drew my Zippo lighter as Papa Smurf charged. This one was very similar to the one Priscilla and I had fought at Kingsmouth's gas station, but while that one had been built like a truck, this one was built like a tank, with natural armor that could withstand even heavy machine gun fire.

As I listened more closely to hear the sounds of its magic, like the bubbling of something resting in the darkest abyss of the ocean, I could somehow tell that this particular Smurf was older than the ones I had encountered before. I guess some things grow better with age, like a fine wine, except this particular one was hellbent on murdering the fuck out of me.

Needless to say, I was less than optimistic about my chances of victory, even with magic, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to try. I let loose a few infernos from the lighter, but that didn't seem to dissuade Papa Smurf from its charge. I stumbled out of the way just in time to avoid getting flattened like a pancake, and concentrating my anima before firing it off, I created an explosion that rocked Papa Smurf. In response, Papa Smurf swiped at me with one of its colossal crustacean claws, and I gasped in pain as I was sent flying into the rock wall on the right side of the road.

As I crashed into the stone to make a nice little crater, I could feel that my internal organs had been turned into a meaty paste. As I fell down onto the road face first, the only thing I could do was lay there like a dead fish as Papa Smurf lumbered away, but I had forgotten about the ace in my sleeve — Avalon.

My insides then began to grow pleasantly warm, and I could feel the scabbard's magic going to work inside of me. In my chest, I could feel a heart begin to beat again, and I took in a weak gasp of air just seconds before I would've died. Papa Smurf didn't seem to have noticed my miraculous recovery, but it was soon alerted as I shakily got up and let loose another explosive salvo.

My attacks seemed to be working, and I kept laying on the heavy firepower from my lighter. As the anima stored within the Zippo went dry, I simply stuffed it back into my pocket so I could keep up the assault. As I pressed my palms to the road, the concrete in front of me began to freeze, and as Papa Smurf charged, it slipped, and it fell onto its back. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and this monster was no exception. Now it was time for the _coup de grâce_.

The air smelled of ozone as I rose up into the air, and it crackled with electricity as the lightning arced off my glowing blue hands to form what looked like a hammer. The drug managed to push itself up onto the elbows of its beefy arms just in time to get its head crushed and electrocuted simultaneously by my lightning hammer, which dropped from the sky with all the force of a meteorite. The ozone in the air now stank with the stench of burnt flesh, and I couldn't help but feel satisfaction at having pulled off a David on this goliath. Now about that SD card…

Climbing down the cliff on the left side of the road to the beach below, I made my way over to where the Orochi suit from before lay face first on the sand, a trail of sand soaked with crimson blood leading from him to the broken window of his van. I didn't need a mortician to tell me that the poor guy was stone-cold dead. In his cold, dead fingers was an SD card like the one I found before, and after getting him onto his back and closing his eyes, I pried it from his fingers before standing back up to walk away.

* * *

_There is a delightful secret soap opera playing out on the internet. Tyler Freeborn's blog has been attracting the attention of the Orochi Group, the Illuminati, and the military. All three seek to destroy the site, and all three continue to fail._

_Someone with exceptional moxie is standing up to the online onslaught and keeping the site alive._

_Foolish, certainly. But also impressive._

_We would rather see such information taken down, but it doesn't concern us directly as it does those other groups._

_R. Sonnac_


	32. The Research of Tyler Freeborn

"Are you seeing this?" Tyler whispered to the camera. "I've been observing them for days now. They're… They're fascinating!"

The camera then zoomed in on a Big Bad Wolf, like the one Wolf saved me and Priscilla from. As it slowly prowled around the woods, sniffing the air and ground as it went, Tyler went on rambling. "I mean, I always knew they were real. All the stories, the pictures, the research. The legends and lore. My grandfather's stories. All of it real. I never had any doubts about it.

"But to see one of them in the wild… To film it! That's something else. It's what I've worked for, what I've sacrificed everything for. This is literally the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. Of course, the rest of it is not so great. But… still.

"I need to follow it, see where it hides, where it lives. Where it came from. I'll need to switch this off, but I'll document my findings somehow." And with that, the camera shut off, leaving me to try and recall all of the details of the location the footage was shot.

"Let's see…" I began muttering softly to myself, like I often did when preparing a new meal, as I pushed away my swivel chair from the desk and leaned slightly back, staring up at the wooden ceiling of the Wabanaki visitors' center in thought. "He was obviously filming in a forest, and I thought I saw a wooden observation platform and a crane off in the distance… I should probably ask around and see if anyone knows about any construction sites nearby."

* * *

The Golden Wigwam Casino being built to the north of the Wabanaki trailer park was intended to usher in some much-needed cash for the tribe. However, from what I've heard from the tribe members I talked to, the project went from embarrassingly stereotypical teepee tourist trap to Frankie construction worker feeding ground when the fog rolled into Kingsmouth. Some construction was being done around that area, so it was there that I was going to search for Tyler Freeborn.

Walking through the woods with my rifle and lighter at the ready, I kept my ears perked up and my eyes roving for any sign of the Big Bad Wolves. The coast seemed to be clear for now, but nevertheless, I kept my guard up as I searched the forest.

As the wind whispered in my ear and drip-fed my paranoia, an icy hand slowly began to tighten its grip around my heart. If I were to be ambushed by _one _Big Bad Wolf, I might stand a chance of killing it or getting away. However, if the Big Bad Wolves hunted in packs, I was screwed.

I then heard the squelching sound of my foot stepping into mud, and I glanced down to see tracks made by the paws of some animal that was too large to be a wolf's paw prints, but too small to be a bear's. I had no idea how fresh the tracks were, since I wasn't a seasoned hunter, but they were the only lead I had, and so I glanced to where they were headed.

Taking a deep breath before exhaling through my nostrils, I began to pick up the pace to a jog. As I progressed further into the forest, I was rewarded with more tracks. Encouraged, I began to put on more speed, until I came across what appeared to be a construction site. Building materials of all kinds were scattered around the area — concrete pipes were assembled in a pyramid, wooden pallets left lying around, and wooden planks were stacked into large piles.

However, my focus was on the glass container set out in the bare center of the site. It was shaped like a multi-sided pyramid with its point cut off, and within its confines, a man wearing an Orochi Group uniform sat, staring listlessly at the bottom of his prison. However, he didn't seem… quite right.

For one thing, his skin was all black, and I don't mean African black. Instead, his skin was the dark color of molten lava, and as he jerked his head up suddenly, I could feel him stare at me from behind his dark sunglasses, like a starving predator that had just spotted its next meal. I blinked, and I jerked backwards in surprise as the man was suddenly halted by the pane of glass I was peering through, snarling at me. My heart stopped for a moment before I breathed a sigh of relief. "It's okay, Chase. It can't hurt you."

_No, it can't. But_ they _can._ A voice in my head told me, and the icy hand squeezed my heart again as my blood ran cold. Turning around, I could see that a pack of Big Bad Wolves had begun circling me and the trapped man. They were oddly silent as they glared me and the man down, and they were all the more menacing for it as they sized us up like prime, juicy cuts of meat at a butcher's.

I raised my rifle to try and buy myself some time, but before I could consider my options, a sudden command from somewhere within the construction site pierced the air like a bullet. "Fire!"

From behind their cover, armed men began to fire their assault rifles at the Big Bad Wolves. They were also part of the Orochi Group, judging by their uniforms. As the wolves turned their attention towards their new assailants, shrugging off bullets as if they were particularly annoying flies, I made to escape back to the forest by using the chaos all around me as a distraction.

That particular plan then went out the window a split second later as one of the Orochis' stray bullets got me in the leg. If you've never been shot before, imagine having a white hot iron spike being driven into your calf at high speeds. That's how I felt as I fell forward and hit the gravel.

I cried out, but I had no time to indulge in pain, so I got up onto my elbows and scrambled for my life. My mind was consumed with the thought of escape, only vaguely noting that the pain of the bullet tearing through my flesh had given way to the warmth of Avalon healing me. The spot of warmth in my right calf then faded away, and as I felt my leg again, I scrambled back up onto my feet and started running for my life.

Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I sprinted towards the relative safety of the woods faster than I've ever gone in my life. The sounds of fighting, growling, and screaming grew farther and farther away as the trees absorbed the noise, and as I ducked behind a tree, I nervously took a peek to see if anything had followed me.

Fortunately, the Big Bad Wolves had been too focused on the men shooting at them to try and kill me. However, their attackers hadn't been so lucky. All but one of the Orochi operatives had been slain, and as the pack closed in on him, the sole survivor discarded his empty rifle and brought his phone. "Oh, fuck me! Fuck me! Not like this! No!"

The largest of the wolves, whom I presumed to be the alpha, then lunged for the man, sending the rest of the pack into a feeding frenzy. While their bodies obscured the view of the gruesome scene, I could tell that from the way chunks of bloody flesh and black uniform flew out of the mass of black fur, the Big Bad Wolves were lacking in table manners.

Ducking behind the tree again, I forced myself to focus on breathing slowly through my nostrils to try and block out the sound of the wolves' feasting. It wasn't so bad, once the Orochi had stopped screaming, and eventually, the squelching sounds of the wolves' feast ended as the last of their meal had been gobbled up. I risked a peek at the wolves from behind the tree, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the pack headed away from my position.

I waited until the Big Bad Wolf pack had gone out of sight before getting out from behind the tree, and I went back over to the construction site in order to investigate the remains of the Orochis and maybe score an assault rifle. God knows I could use the extra firepower for when Priscilla and I finally go after Beaumont.

Alas, there were assault rifles aplenty, but no ammo to be had for them, having been used up on the Big Bad Wolves, to no avail. However, I did find something interesting near the corpse of the last man standing. "Hey, his phone's still on! Surprised it didn't get stepped on during all the commotion. Ew, it still has blood on it… Case files, huh? This oughta be interesting…"

* * *

**Private Cash**  
We got the private "transferred" from the military. Officially they need to make a stink about it, but he's one of ours now. Tests confirm that Cash is in peak physical condition and that his blood type conforms to the project needs. Commence subject three testing immediately and keep this file open until finished.

* * *

**Tyler Freeborn**  
The Freeborn kid is right, there is a distinct difference between mutations caused by the Mist and the mutations caused by the Filth. Are we dealing with a collision between two separate occult entities here? One which was buried on the island all along, and something else which came from the sea? Two distinct entities, two distinct lines of mutation.

Freeborn has dropped off the map and we've not been able to track his movements anymore. We have decrypted the video that the military recovered for us and we have sent a second team to recover any further recordings from the Freeborn residence. Your mission is to recover Filth samples from the "local" wildlife. There are a pack roaming the area to the north.

* * *

**Subject Three**  
Subject Three is live and ready for final testing. We've been cross-infecting strains with various blood types and the current combination is 83% likely to lure the guardian hound species. Once we have one contained, we expect significant strides in Project Filth. The focus now is on ensuring we can subdue the hound once it comes for the bait.

* * *

I had just learned three things from reading the Orochi files. One, they had requisitioned an army private for some kind of experiment. Two, that there was not one, but _two _infections to worry about on Solomon Island. Three, that the Orochi Group was using one of their infected soldiers as bait for the Big Bad Wolves. Could that have been Private Cash? Even having seen all that I've seen, the callous treatment of the man they sacrificed for their own gain disturbed me. Speaking of which, where was the bait? I looked around and there it was, lying dead and mutilated amidst the shards of its destroyed prison.

Bringing out my phone, I then began taking pictures of the files to send to Sonnac, and as I put away my phone, I noticed another file on the Orochi operative's phone. "Why, hello there…"

* * *

_Time to reassess what we know about the infection on Solomon Island. We have the black Filth, which causes various kinds of mutation._

_The Filth is a liquid-like terror leaking up from the ground. It comes into contact with living entities and does horrible things to them — primarily of a violent, twisted, tentacular, and/or dream-like nature._

_The going theory — a hopeful one — is that limiting physical contact will likewise limit exposure. Orochi research seems far less hopeful: it postulates a distinct second strain, a product of the mist, which is airborne._

_If this is the case, it may mean that everyone on Solomon Island is already infected._

_R. Sonnac_


	33. The Tenacity of Tyler Freeborn

As I opened up the file on the Orochi operative's phone, I was greeted by a play button obscuring the face of Tyler Freeborn. Pressing it, I watched as Tyler Freeborn began to speak. "Remember when I wrote about the Pale Men? Remember the stories? The pictures? Okay, okay, check this out."

The camera then shifted away from Tyler's face, and focused on the dead Smurf lying on the sand. Its spike arm was covered in its blood, and the rictus of its pale, humanlike face looked like it had died in agony, though how it was killed, I had no clue. "That's one of them, one of the Pale Men. They are real. They came with the mist. I think they belong to the mist… or maybe it's the other way around, I haven't decided yet."

The camera then turned back to Tyler. "You know the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin? He had a magic flute. first he lured all the rats in town into the sea. And then… After they refused to pay him for his services, he played the flute again. Only this time, it wasn't the rats that came with him into the water. It was the children."

Tyler then lowered himself into a squat, setting the camera down onto the beach in order to address it. "I could swear I heard music when the mist took everyone away, into the sea. I knew it wasn't natural. I warned them, but they wouldn't listen. They wouldn't listen. So I plugged my earbuds in, turned the volume up real loud, crawled under the table and shut my eyes.

"When Springsteen stopped playing, everything had gone dead quiet. Susie's diner was completely empty. The whole damn town was empty. And the mist had pulled back, out to sea. No more than half an hour at most. Those few days before they all came back were odd days.

"We lost a couple of people who tried to pass through the mist. We heard the screams… And we didn't know what to do, why we were still here. Well. I knew."

Tyler then reached forward towards the camera again, and I was once again faced with the dead Smurf. "I know. I'm still here because I'm needed. It's my job, my duty, to find out what happened."

"What came with the mist. Who the Pale Men are. What they're after." Tyler continued, zooming in on the dead Smurf's face. Then the camera raised itself towards the ocean, whose horizon was shrouded by the fog. "And what lies… beyond."

"Beyond the mist."

* * *

The Orochi drone was silent as it floated along its path, scanning its surroundings with the glowing blue lens it called an eye. As it passed my hiding spot behind one of the trucks parked just outside the Orochi outpost's chainlink fence, I immediately moved towards the ladder attached to the back of the truck. Carefully placing my feet so that the metal roof of the truck wouldn't bend beneath my weight and create noise, I was soon close enough to the fence to try and jump over it into the compound.

A second later, I landed with a soft thud onto the ground below. I then hurried to press myself against the wall of a metal shipping container emblazoned with the Orochi sigil, and peering around the corner, I spotted a van with one of its back doors open some distance away. Problem was, the path to the van was wide open, leaving me exposed. There was no time to lose, though, and after checking to make sure the Orochi drones were looking the other way, I sprinted across the camp to the van.

As I ducked behind the closed door of the van, I drew my pistol and peered around the corner to see if one of the drones had spotted me and sounded the alarm. After a few tense seconds, I relaxed as much as being behind enemy lines could allow, and holstering my pistol, I turned my attentions towards the van's interior.

It appeared to be some kind of mobile laboratory, with microscopes and test tubes all stuffed into a cramped space. Closing the van door shut, I was momentarily in darkness, save for the light produced by the nearby laptop's screensaver, before I snapped my fingers for a flame burst into life above my palm, illuminating the sterile white lab equipment with an eerie blue glow. On the counter was a rack, containing several labeled test tubes filled with blood.

Curiosity compelled me to draw one of the tubes from their place and examine its label: "Condition 12." My gaze then turned towards the dropper and glass slides sitting next to the microscope, and I began to vaguely recall instructions given to me by my freshman biology teacher. Drawing blood from the Condition 12 test tube with the dropper, I placed just a drop on one of the glass slides before smearing it with another slide. I then clipped my blood sample to the stage of the microscope, before pressing my eyes against the eyepiece to see what was up with it.

Instead of being red like normal blood, the blood inside the Condition 12 tube was black, like something was wrong with it. The notepad lying nearby seemed to agree with me. _"Condition 12 came from the sea. The blood appears to be infected."_

I repeated this process with the second test tube labeled "Subject 3." This time, only half the blood was infected. _"Subject 3 was injected with the Filth. The blood is infected."_

The last of the test tubes was labeled with two words that sent shivers up my spine: Local Resident. If that weren't enough, the core of cancerous black cells surrounded by healthy red blood cells really gave me the chills. To make things even worse, the sample belonged to summon I had _met_. _"H. Bannerman was not physically exposed, but she appears to be infected."_

What? How could that have been possible? It couldn't be, but the notes and my own observations proved otherwise. My head was swimming in confusion and horror as I turned towards the laptop for answers. As my fingers clumsily typed into the search bar, I soon found a report that confirmed all of my worst fears.

_There is an airborne strain of the Filth. This "foreign" strain accounts for the mutations found in the draug (or "pale men") and the local "zombies." These subjects were infected by whatever's in the mist, not by the black liquid native to the island. Anyone exposed to the mist is 93% likely to be infected already. All personnel working with Filth must be aware of the possibility of airborne contamination. You must wear a CDC-class respirator at all times. Be sure to obtain enough from the camp nearby._

As I closed the window, I could feel my breathing begin to speed up, and I forced myself to calm down, slow down my breathing to a more normal speed, and suppress my emotions as I struggled to comprehend what I had just read.

Apparently, there were two strains of the "Filth." One was the black liquid we all know and hate, but the other was an airborne virus that's already infected everyone Priscilla and I had ever met on Solomon Island. Sheriff Bannerman, Deputy Andy, Moose, Edgar from the Scrapyard, Danny Dufresne, Ami, Kyra, Red, Old Joe… They were all just going to die, no matter what we did to help them?

For that matter, were Priscilla and I infected with the Filth, too? No, I told myself. Didn't Wolf say we had natural defenses against the fog? The thought was cold comfort to me. Bad enough that the people of Kingsmouth were stuck here in Zombieland with no way of getting out, but now fate saw fit to eventually turn them all into monsters, too?

I sighed in defeat as I rubbed my face. At this point in time, I didn't have the will nor the energy to get angry, or cry, or anything, really. I was just… tired. All I wanted right now was to go home, curl in my bed, and sleep for a long time. But I couldn't — not when a madman with a magic sword was running around unchecked, threatening to blow the Earth a new one. If I couldn't save the people, then I could at least keep Beaumont from doing any more damage… right?

With that thought in mind, I logged off the computer and made my way for the van door.

* * *

The CDC camp was easy to spot with its yellow tents and the big Mack truck parked right next to it. As I drew closer to the camp, I drew my Beretta and held it at the ready as I made my way, doing a quick sweep of the camp for any hostiles, survivors, or useful supplies, like the respirators I came here to get.

Oddly enough, the place was a ghost town. There wasn't a soul to be seen, and I wondered if the Smurfs and Frankies had gotten to them first. I then dismissed the thought as unlikely. Sure, the camp was messy, but not in a way that would suggest a struggle. As I neared the end of my sweep of the camp, I stumbled upon a figure standing on a cliff just outside the compound.

The figure was dressed in a yellow hazmat suit that made it hard to tell what gender they were, and they were staring out over a bog full of dead trees and something… bubbling within it.

Somehow, I didn't think that monsters were the type to take whatever chance they could to enjoy the view in between terrorizing humans, however crappy that view may be, so I assumed that the figure was relatively harmless. Holstering my pistol and hiding it within my jacket so as to not to give the wrong impression, I called out to the figure. "Um, hello?"

The figure jerked in surprise as she whipped out some sort of device, and I let her fiddle with it, all the while tensing my leg muscles for a sudden evasive maneuver. The figure then spoke in a muffled, feminine voice, and for a second, I almost thought Ami was the one wearing the suit, before remembering that Ami was probably still back at Red's store. "No closer! I'm getting some weird… some weird readings. You might be infected. Everyone here might be infected."

"I'm well aware of that, ma'am." I said calmly as I held up my hands. "My name's Chase Mercer. What's your name?"

The figure took a deep breath before answering. "I'm Marianne Chen. I'm with the CDC. I represent the government, so you have to listen to me. We have… _I_ have…"

Marianne then took a moment to collect herself before continuing. "This is a quarantined area, and I have authority… here. That's why I'm wearing the suit. That's what the suit means."

"Sure…" I drawled sarcastically as I folded my arms across my chest. "But to be honest, it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself of your own authority rather than me. Now why don't you tell me what that suit _really _means?"

Marianne sighed in exasperation, like a deflating balloon. "It means the fecal matter has hit the fan, and we're staring Phase Seven dead in the eye. Frankly, if it didn't violate protocol, I could really use a hug."

"I think all of us here could." I said sympathetically. "On my way here, I walked through your camp. Shouldn't there be more of you CDC guys around here?"

"The others were exposed. Terminally. They expired. Died. They died. Horribly. Cursing. Screaming. Gasping, vomiting, clawing their own eyes out." The opaque visor of Marianne's helmet then stared down at the ground.

"It was… icky. And then, when it's finally over and they're all dead, you think, 'Hey, that sucked, but it's done, they're gone, we can deal with that.' But oh no." Marianne began as she began pacing. "People rising from the dead, shambling ghouls, glowing eyes, tentacles, black slime. Not even your standard, government grade Category Z reanimated corpses."

"So the government has classified zombies now, huh?" I couldn't help but remark, and Marianne shrugged.

"You'd be surprised what the White House is prepared for. I hear they even have a contingency plan to address the possibility of a hostile takeover by the _Girl Scouts, _of all things.

"But this is brand new terrifying. Run-for-the-hills terrifying. Despite all that training, you just want to skedaddle." Marianne then pointed down to the bog she had been staring at moments before. "It started down in that bog, just before the fog came. We'd been shipped in to support the Orochi Group. Not the other way around.

"I thought with a Democrat in office, we were past these kinds of dodgy arrangements, but I guess absolute power corrupts regardless. And absolutely. Just like this Category A agent. The Filth. It corrupts absolutely. Body and soul."

"The Filth?" I repeated, and Marianne nodded.

"Yeah: The Filth. That's what they call it. For real! How the hell do you work with a name like that? The Filth. You're just asking for it. So if I were you, I'd keep my distance. Safety first!"

"Thank you." I said. "Anyway, I came here to ask for a favor: do you mind if I borrow one of your respirators? I'm kinda doing my own legwork into what's going on."

Though I couldn't see Marianne's face, I got the feeling that her eyes widened as she looked at me from another angle. "Wait a sec… You're one of _those_ guys, right? The ones with the magic powers and stuff, right? Aren't you a little young for that, though?"

"Yes, yes, I am."

I jerked backwards a little as Marianne rushed forward with surprising speed, clasping my hands as if I were Jesus Christ returned. Sadly, my hands could heal neither leprosy nor the Filth. Priscilla could probably help alleviate the former, though.

Marianne's voice took on a much more heartened tone than before. "I really believe you guys are our only hope. We have a name for you. Did you know that? Back at the CDC. 'The Bees.' That's what we call you. Don't know why, heh."

"We keep records. There's a whole floor related to 'the Bees.' I don't know what's there. I don't have clearance, but I can see now why we'd need a whole floor. If I ever get back home, that's what I want to work on. I want to pick you guys apart. Not literally, of course. I'm not talking autopsies or anything like that, and anyway, don't you guys have, like, secret tunnels only you can go through? I hear you guys have those. Boy, I'd love to be a Bee right now and… buzz-buzz away."

"Me too." I said, relaxing a bit as she finally let go of my hands, having realized that I wasn't going to be helping lepers anytime soon. For a second, there was an awkward pause in the conversation, before Marianne spoke up again. "So how about that respirator?"

A few minutes later, I had two bright yellow gas masks in my backpack, along with a few filters for each. As we stood near the entrance to the CDC camp, Marianne shuffled awkwardly in place. "So, uh… good luck with… whatever you're doing."

"Thank you." I said. An impulsive thought then occurred to me, and I hesitated on acting on it for a moment, before thinking 'Eh, why the hell not? We both could use it, anyway.' Marianne let out a squeak of surprise, as I reached forward and gave her a hug — a short one that lasted only for a moment, so that she didn't have the chance to push me away. "Stay safe now, you hear?"

"I-I will." Marianne stammered for a moment, nodding her head. I nodded back as I turned around and made my way for the shore.

* * *

The video camera stood on its tripod, alone on the desolate shore of Solomon Island, staring out into the abyss that was the ocean. The gravel and sand crunched beneath my feet as I walked over to it and picked it up. To my surprise, it still had some battery left when I turned it on, and I fumbled with the controls for a bit before finally reaching the most recently-recorded video.

The video began with a squatting Tyler Freeborn pulling away from the camera, having just started recording. He was dressed much more warmly than I'd seen him before, in a green jacket and light gray cargo pants. His face was obscured by a gas mask like the ones I had in my bag, and his voice was muffled by it as he spoke.

"I'm going in. I think I got it figured out. I think I'll be okay. I don't think things are the same inside as they are outside. I think things are… twisted in there. If you breathe that stuff, it'll get you. Poison you. but it's the sound that makes you susceptible to it, makes you do things you don't want to do. The music.

"Like the Pied Piper, we're children being lured into the sea. Into the nameless abyss, the ancient city beneath. Where they sleep. I'm going in, I'm going to try and push through to the other side, wherever that is. I don't plan on coming back."

With that, Tyler Freeborn saluted the camera before reaching forward towards it, and there, the video ended. Turning the camera off, I then stowed it and its tripod away in my backpack before pulling out my phone and calling Sonnac. Once he had picked up, I gave him a brief summary of what I had been doing since I last contacted him.

"I did not like how closely the military was working with the Orochi Group." Sonnac began when I finally finished. "I did not like the ease with which a rogue blogger was allowed to prance around and disseminate dangerous information. I did not like how little we knew of said information.

"I certainly did not appreciate the notion of a distinct airborne strain of Filth. I absolutely loathe the repercussions on the inhabitants of Solomon Island. Finally, I cannot abide the idea of one of the few agents we have left strolling off into the fog."

"Sorry, sir, but sometimes, we have to do things we don't like." I said.

"I concur. I suggest you wear something bright. Good luck, Mr. Mercer." Sonnac said before hanging up. As I pocketed my phone, I brought out my gas mask and slipped it on over my face, taking a few preliminary breaths with it and adjusting the fit of the straps. As I stepped foot into the water and headed deeper and deeper into it, I whispered to myself and the wind.

"Hang on, Tyler. I'm coming for you. Just you wait."


	34. The Vanishing of Tyler Freeborn

As I waded through the water in the midst of the fog surrounding Solomon Island, I was having a pretty bad time. The water was unnaturally cold for this time of year, leaving everything below my waist freezing, and the farther I went, the darker it became. It was if the fog itself was slowly closing in on me.

Was that what had happened to Tyler? For that matter, what if this was a fool's errand and he had already gotten himself killed? I wasn't naive enough to believe that he really did find a way out of Kingsmouth outside of traveling through Agartha.

To make matters worse, the sound around me was beginning to drive me nuts. Not only was the sound of my breathing through the CDC gas mask starting to drive me insane, but the song that had driven Joe Slater to suicide by teenager with a gun had come back. Only sheer determination and my eclectic favorites playlist on Spotify blasting through my earbuds kept me going through the fog, along with the light off in the distance.

For all I knew, the light was an anglerfish's lure: just bait to attract unwitting prey to the welcoming jaws of some hideous monster. It really irked me, being unable to navigate without the help of a star of dubious intentions. It made me feel so small and helpless, like some small animal blindly stumbling about in the dark. However, it was the only lead I had, so I had no other choice but to get over myself and continue following the star.

As I waded further and further, the sound of sloshing water began to mix in with the sounds of my heavy breathing, the ethereal singing voice of a woman, the voice of Maitre Gims blasting through my earbuds, and my slowly-accelerating heartbeat. Despite all the discordant sound around me, I could feel myself growing sleepy and sluggish in my movements.

In response, I cranked the volume up higher, and my ears were assaulted by rapid-fire French rap lyrics as I pressed onward at a faster pace than before. Still, it was no use. In response, the ethereal lullaby began growing louder and louder, and its soporific effects only grew stronger for it. It was becoming a struggle just to keep my eyelids from fluttering downwards, and my legs were slowly turning into jelly fit for a PB&amp;J sandwich. "No… Must… keep moving… Can't… stop… now…"

Mustering my willpower, I took a few more long, labored steps further and further into the water. No matter how far I went though, the light still seemed no closer than before. Maybe I should give up. Yeah… That sounds good, but… Surely a few more steps couldn't hurt?

Whatever my mind wanted, my body didn't, and without warning, my legs collapsed, and sleep finally overtook me as my fall slowed to a crawl through the water.

* * *

As I stirred awake, I felt something prickle against my somehow-dry hands, and as the moment of grogginess passed, I realized that I was touching grass. Grass? What was grass doing here?

As I propped myself up onto my hands, I looked at my surroundings. I appeared to be standing on a grassy ledge, which was somehow illuminated enough to see what it was, despite the lack of an obvious light source. It overlooked a void, whose black the deepest and darkest I've ever seen. I looked over my shoulder, and a mossy rock wall stared back at me. Strangely enough, there was a red octagonal stop sign near the point of the ledge, the kind you'd see on the road. Getting up onto my feet, I walked over to it and gripped the sign by its metal post as I looked down.

Sure enough, the void down there was the same as the void all around me, and as I accidentally shifted a pebble with my foot, it fell off the ledge and was swallowed up by the void almost instantaneously. Then the voice began to speak. It was a masculine voice that sounded both high and deep at the same time, and vaguely sleepy. _"Stop… Stop… Stop… No, don't stop now. More words, please. More memories."_

I was at a loss for what to do, so I resolved to consider my options as I inspected my weapons for any damage from being dropped into the water. The way I saw it, I had two options. One, stay on the ledge indefinitely, or two, jump off the ledge. Neither option was good, but then again, neither choice was worse. However, if I had to pick, I'd rather take things into my hands than just sit around.

However, my mind's desires was rather different than what my body wanted, and my knees trembled as I continued to stare downwards. I had already triple-checked my guns, and they were more or less functional, so I had no excuse for delaying the jump. "Come on, Chase… If Ezio and Altair can do it, so can you."

Taking a deep breath as I took two steps backward, I then denied myself the chance to talk myself out of my crazy decision by running full speed towards the edge. With an almighty leap, I began falling through the void, shutting my eyes tightly as my mind uttered several curses in rapid succession.

Then, I came to a sudden stop, and I felt as if I had landed in cold gelatin. Whatever I had landed on, it felt squishy and slimy, but it slowed the impulse of my fall and reduced the force of the impact, and that was all that mattered. Hesitantly, I opened my eyes to see the black tentacles of the Filth wriggling all around me, illuminated by the ghostly light of a streetlamp nearby. "Aw, gross! Like I wasn't dirty enough already!"

The black sludge beneath me gave way, but didn't swallow me up as I moved across the surface of the pool to the shore. Once my shoes had touched solid ground again, I set myself on fire with my magic, like a blue phoenix, just to make absolutely sure none of the Filth had gotten to me.

As I dusted my clothes off, I looked up to see a house not three dozen strides away, on the other end of a concrete walkway, built in the same style as all the other houses on Kingsmouth, save for the iron gate that served as a door. It wouldn't have been a bad piece of real estate, if it weren't for the black Filth tentacles crawling up its sides like a bad Japanese porn flick.

As I walked up the walkway, ignoring the Filthy tentacles reaching out from the dark edges of the walkway towards me, I heard that same voice from the ledge again. _"Mommy, what will daddy bring back from the Sea?"_

_"__Whatever his heart desires, my sweet."_ The 'mother' answered back, in the exact same voice as her 'child.' It unsettled me slightly, how there was no attempt made at distinguishing the two voices. _"They rowed, rowed, rowed their boats, through the Sargasso Sea. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, soon we'll all be free."_

The iron gate opened as I stepped onto the house's porch, and past it, I could see a stairway leading downwards, seemingly forever. Drawing my pistol and checking it to see if it was still functional after the fall, I then began my descent down the stairs.

_"__Welcome to the red sargassum dream. Follow it down… down… down…"_ The voice said as I made my way down, and as I walked farther and farther, I noticed that the walls were beginning to leak water, looking as if they were about to melt away. My vision began to blur slightly at the edges as well, and the landscape paintings on the walls began to distort. I had to get out of here, and fast.

Picking up the pace, I began to run down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. Probably pretty dangerous, considering that I was also holding a gun, but at least I had Avalon to fix me up should I fall down the stairs and/or shoot myself by accident. Finally, I reached the bottom of the stairway, and as I breathed a sight of relief, I opened my eyes to find myself in a new area.

From the looks of it, I was in one of those suburban neighborhoods you see on sitcoms. Judging by the darkness, I assumed the place to be set in a perpetual state of nighttime, but what really caught my attention was the lack of color to the place, as if I had stepped into one of those old black-and-white movies. Hell, I half-expected Charlie Chaplin and his Hitler stache to pop out into the pale, ghostly light of the streetlamp across the road.

However, there was no Charlie Chaplin to be seen — just that same, creepy-ass voice from before, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once as I walked through the streets. _"Peekaboo. We see you. Look around. This is what will be. We're dreaming it all together. Impressive, isn't it?"_

In a sense, it was. Even in darkness, I could tell that the every house and picket fence lining the street was placed with perfect precision — too perfect in fact. It wasn't so much the darkness that bothered me, but the lack of animation to the place. Even the darkest neighborhood had different shades and sounds and imperfections to it, but this place was silent and monochrome and perfect. It creeped the hell out of me.

_"__You see, nothing has to change. It's all the same as they remember it. It's happening already. The dream is inside all of them. There's no disinfecting the dream. Exodus won't save them. No, no, no, it's too late for that. Besides, save them from what? Themselves? This is what they are."_

As if on cue, a menacing voice both familiar and strange came from behind me. "I think you're looking for us…"

I spun around on a dime, and I gasped in pain as a bullet tore through my right shoulder, leaving the hand holding my Beretta hanging limply at my side. "Deputy Andy? Sheriff Bannerman?"

In response, Not-Andy pulled back the bolt on his hunting rifle with tentacled hands as Not-Bannerman raised her two pistols, tentacle hair wriggling in rage as a horde of dark, Filthy, glowing-eyed kittens yowling as they rushed towards me. Without waiting for my right arm to heal, I brought my left hand, and with a quick movement from my fingers working the lighter, the kittens erupted into flames. Somehow, I knew there was a special place in Hell for me along with Deputy Andy's dad and all the other kitten killers in the world.

Three more gunshots rang out in the darkened suburbia, and I felt the heaviest of the three whiz by my head while the two pistol rounds from Not-Bannerman went wide of their mark. Using my blue flames as cover for my movements, I ducked behind the nearby streetlamp and returned fire with my pistol.

As Not-Bannerman went down with two shots to the torso followed by a headshot, Not-Andy raised his smoky left hand, and another litter of killer kittens rose from the shadows, yowling for my blood. As a rifle round pinged off the streetlamp, the Filthy felines were already halfway through closing the gap, and what was worse was that they were all on fire and showed no signs of slowing down. I had already tried burning them to death, but these cats seemed to be of a tougher sort than the last litter. However, I wasn't a one-trick pony.

A blast of cold, icy wind staggered the cats for a moment, which was just enough time for me to follow up with a lightning bolt. Blue electricity crackled as it leapt from my hand to the nearest kitten, then to the next nearest kitten, and so on and so forth until it hit Not-Andy. Having electrocuted his minions, I brought up my Beretta for the finishing blows. One. Two. Three. Boom, headshot.

Now that the danger had passed, I swapped out the magazine in my pistol for a new one and loaded more bullets into the partially-empty one. Getting out from behind the shot-up streetlamp, I began picking up the pace as I made my way around the corner of the block. As I hurried down the street, one of the manhole covers popped open like a bottle cap, and a head of fleecy white curls turned around to reveal the glowing orange eyes of Not-Nora Creed.

In response, I brought out my rifle and hit the concrete belly-first with a well-practiced movement honed by hours of Brigadier Lethe yelling at me. Pressing the butt of the rifle against my shoulder, I stared down the length of the barrel at a spot in between Not-Nora's eyes as she brought her arms out of the sewer to clamber up onto the street, her trusty shotgun in hand.

With a squeeze of the trigger, those plans went belly-up, and both grandma and shotgun unceremoniously fell back into the sewer. "Ah jeez… I know she's technically a Frankie at this point, but… I can't help but feel guilty at having to pop an old lady between the eyes and watch her corpse collapse into a sewer. Ah, well…"

I continued along my path, rifle in hand as my eyes looked about for any danger. Unfortunately, I didn't think about looking down, and just as I felt something was wrong, the manhole cover beneath my feet erupted upwards like a volcano, sending me flying. "This is the long detention of the soul. 'Armageddon' is such a loaded term…"

Scrambling to my feet, I somehow managed to keep my cool as I shot down Not-Montag's familiars, like the ones back at Innsmouth Academy, one by one. In the heat of a battle of life and death, there was no time to worry about missing your shots, and without the opportunity for doubt and fear to come and seize control of my actions, every shot found its mark.

As the Filth pooled around Not-Montag and hands rose up from the blackness, I raised my lighter and snapped down on the spark wheel. The farce of a headmaster then burst into roaring blue flame, consuming him like a hungry beast. Despite undergoing some intense immolation, Not-Montag was still going fairly strong, and he riposted with his own fiery attacks. If my footwork was any worse, I would've been cooked to a nice crisp.

Unlike the nonmagical doppelgängers of the Kingsmouth townsfolk, Not-Montag was no slouch, and I was forced to divide my attention between dodging and retaliating against him, and taking out his oncoming familiars. It was times like these that I really wished Priscilla was here with me.

As another wave of familiars burst into flame, I decided to take refuge in audacity by leaping through the flames, gun blazing. Somehow, Not-Montag's face managed a look of shock before taking a few pistol rounds to his ugly face for the _coup de grâce_.

As he fell dead onto the street, I reloaded my pistol and continued on my way. As I reached the end of the road, I noticed a chainlink door to my left, leading into a narrow passage lined with crushed cars piling high up into the dark sky. "Lemme guess… I'm gonna have to fight Not-Edgar and his dogs here, aren't I?"

In response, the voice from before said, _"Let them close their eyes forever. Let them inherit the kingdom."_

"The kingdom of what, rusty cars and crappy real estate?" I asked no one in particular. "No thanks…"

As I reached what appeared to be the end of the passage made of cars, bright lights went on, and I instinctively held up a hand to shade my eyes while they adjusted to the sudden change in lighting. Once they had adapted, I looked to find myself above a dusty racetrack surrounded by the junk of the scrapyard, several driverless cars of various makes already speeding around the course. It was like the undead love child of a monster truck rally and a scrapyard NASCAR race. Above the track near the starting line, Not-Edgar roared alongside the engines as he waved around a monkey wrench. "Yee-haw! Tango! Cash!"

With a great leap, Edgar landed atop a familiar-looking school bus labeled "ZOMBIE WASTER," whose busted windows acted as makeshift gun ports for his jury-rigged cannons. Soon afterwards, Not-Tango and Not-Cash joined him on the roof of the _Zombie Waster_, and as he spotted me, Not-Edgar shouted, "You wanna get out o' here? Then you gotta pry the key from mah cold, dead hands, you fucker!"

I had no delusions about my ability to hit a moving target at the distance I was at, so I had no choice but to do this _Mad Max_ or _Borderlands_-style. Taking a deep breath as I brought out my rifle, I took a leap of faith, and Reinforced my legs just in time to land atop a Pontiac Aztek — you know, that car from _Breaking Bad_. "Alright, buddy, I'm gonna call you the _Walter Pinkman_, and together, we're going to take Edgar down!"

To my surprise, the _Walter Pinkman _roared her engine in response, and she sped up to catch up with the _Zombie Waster_. As she did so, Not-Edgar thrust his monkey wrench forward like a pirate's cutlass, and his mutts leapt to do his bidding. They were surprisingly agile, hopping from one car to the next until they boarded the _Walter Pinkman_. "Prepare to repel boarders!"

As one dog lunged at me, I slammed the stock of the rifle into his face, and he whimpered as his buddy took the next turn. This one managed to knock me down onto the roof of the _Walter Pinkman _and get on top of me, and I struggled to try and push him off me, lest my face get bitten off. With one final push, I hurled the Doberman off the _Walter Pinkman_, who obliged me by opening its right rear door, knocking the dog right into the path of an oncoming Winnebago. Ouch.

I scrambled to my feet just as the other dog was beginning to get up, and one bullet sent his brains splattering all over the roof. "Okay, three words: Best. Car. Ever! And, uh, sorry about the mess…"

The _Walter Pinkman _didn't seem to mind, though, and as she neared the rear end of the _Zombie Waster_, I was grateful that she didn't have any stern chaser cannons. "Alright, girl, standby in case I get knocked off the _Zombie Waster_, 'kay? And for the record: you're _much _cooler than the Mini Cooper I drove in driver's ed."

With that being said, I slung my rifle away and leapt off the _Walter Pinkman _onto the rear end of the _Zombie Waster_. I grunted as I held onto the edge of the bus's roof for dear life, and as I looked up, I could see the glowing orange eyes of Not-Edgar looking down on me.

As he brought his monkey wrench down, I got my hand out of the way just in time, and Reinforcing my other hand for extra strength, I was just about to reestablish my other hand's grip on the bus's roof when the bus lurched to the right with a crashing sound. Not-Edgar was knocked off-balance, though not off the bus, and I seized the opportunity to clamber up onto the bus's roof.

A quick glance told me that the _Walter Pinkman _had brought herself alongside the _Zombie Waster _and bumped her from the left, and I felt a twinge of sorrow as the _Zombie Waster_ retaliated with a broadside of scrap iron cannonballs. The projectiles broke the _Walter Pinkman_'s windows and collapsed her roof, sending her spiraling out of control and into the rear of a Ford Pinto, which promptly exploded, finishing off both cars.

I had no time to mourn her, though, as Not-Edgar had regained his balance and was now engaging me in close quarters combat. As he swung his monkey wrench wildly, I saw the rusty old key in his off hand, and as he swung and missed again, I stepped forward into the range of his swing and slammed my rifle butt into his torso.

Not-Edgar stumbled backwards a few steps, which was all it took for me to bring my gun up and pull the trigger. He fell flat onto his back, key still gripped tightly in his hands as blood oozed from the hole in his forehead. As I knelt down next to Not-Edgar's body to get the key, I rapped my fist against the roof of the _Zombie Waster_. "Sorry, girl, but this race is over. Bring me alongside the exit, will you?"

The _Zombie Waster_ revved its engine obligingly, and machinery whirred as one of the cranes overlooking the racetrack lowered its arms, revealing its hook to be holding strong, heavy-duty metal chains suspending a rock with a flat surface. I nodded my thanks as the crane lowered the platform enough for me to step aboard it easily from the _Zombie Waster_, and I waved goodbye to the racers as I was lifted up into the air.

However, my elation at having won would turn out to be short-lived, as the voice returned again. _"Let's play a game. We can make the rules together. Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of sailors, ashes, ashes, they all fell down."_

"For the record, I never liked that nursery rhyme." I said bluntly to the darkness as I continued my ascent.

_"__Free… born. Free… born. This way they'll live forever, free from civil trappings. You're in our dream and we are in theirs. We're all in this together. See, nothing has to change. Not really. This is how they dream each other. What could be more real than that? You could be the mayor of this place. A new monarch. New god. Interested?"_

"Thanks… but no thanks." I responded simply as my ride came to a stop at the bottom of a spiraling road leading up somewhere. I set off at a fast-paced jog up the road, and when I had made the loop for long enough, I found myself at the end of the road.

Standing in front of me was the entrance to what appeared to be the Blue Ridge Mine, complete with the warning sign, and the voice chose that moment to speak up. _"Tell all your friends to visit. It sharpens the dream. Remember us when you wake. And we will remember you."_

"Sure. _Hey guys, you should visit this suburbia built atop the infected corpses of New Englanders!"_ I mocked as I strode towards the entrance of the mine, shrouded by the darkness.

As I was enveloped by the dark and continued on my way, I blinked and tried to adjust my eyes to the lack of light, which wasn't easy, considering I had just come from a brightly-lit area not moments before. However, when I blinked again, I found myself at the wheel of a wooden sailing ship — the kind you might see Jack Aubrey or Horatio Hornblower command in one of their books.

Overhead, lightning flashed as thunder boomed, and as the ship's bow lurched upwards, I grasped the spokes of the wheel to try and keep her steady. It was then that the black tentacles of the Filth rose up from the depths of the stormy sea like those of a kraken. As I struggled to keep the ship sailing straight while being assaulted by the rain, wind, and thunder, it spread throughout the entire spar deck as the voice spoke.

_"__Row, row, row your boat, gently through my dream. Terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, this is all I've seen. We want to see more. Release us. Wake us from the Sea. Wake us all and you can live the dream forever."_

"Sorry, but I prefer to dream about hot girls over… whatever this is." I snarked as I heaved on the wheel again. Lightning then flashed again, much more brightly than before, and the sudden shift in light blinded me as everything suddenly went silent.

* * *

"It's not the monsters I'm afraid of. They're not very bright, and they're practically deaf and blind and easy to avoid if you've got half a brain. There are things worse than monsters. Much worse. Like the dreams I keep having.

"I don't know what's up with them. I mean, they're so vivid and intense. Like I'm wide awake, and when I wake up, I'm exhausted, like I haven't slept a wink all night. But I know I had.

"And I think, sometimes, even when I'm awake… I'm still dreaming. Because I keep hearing the whispers. They're always whispering. Always. All the time. They've got so much to whisper about."

I stared dully up at the sky as the the tired voice of Tyler Freeborn fell silent on the recorder. For my part, I felt as exhausted as he sounded, but at least he was getting his rest now. How do I know? Well, the proof was lying right beside me, face-first atop the sand.

I groggily groaned as I reached for my neck, and as I held my new necklace above my face, the sun glinted off the bone of the smooth claw. To it, I whispered softly, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Tyler. I may be too late to save you and the others, but I swear that I'll stop the madman responsible for your demise. That's a promise."

* * *

_This is analogous to other "dream-like experiences" various agents have been reporting in the field. Analogous, and yet not the same._

_The similarities alone I could live with. It would confirm things we already suspect. It is the distinctions that trouble me._

_I suspect there will be plenty of time to lose sleep over the consequences of this data. For now, we must applaud the efforts of Tyler Freeborn._

_I can never condone his willingness to incite hysteria. However, the man went as far as anyone I know in search of the truth. That I must respect._

_May he rest in peace._

_R. Sonnac_


	35. The Darkness War

"You seem troubled." Old Joe remarked as he sat himself down in his red armchair out on the porch, next to where I was having a late lunch. "Didn't find what you were looking for?"

"You could say that." I admitted before taking a half-hearted bite of my sandwich, the toasted slices of bread crunching between my teeth. I could hardly taste the butter I had melted into the bread. Ever since I had returned from my search for Tyler Freeborn, I felt as if I were weighed down by the knowledge that all the effort put into saving this place were for nothing, the knowledge that I was currently speaking to a dead man walking.

However, the only choice I had left was to move forward and finish doing damage control, so that was what I did. Stuffing the last corner of my sandwich into my mouth, I finished consuming it before asking, "I don't suppose you remember something from your people's mythology that could help us?"

"I don't, but the land itself does, and memories can be made images. With our magic, harvested from the earth, we can bring those memories forth, live them again, see what our ancestors saw. As real as a waking dream."

"That sounds great!" I said as I sat up in my white plastic lawn chair. "When can we get started?"

"Right now." Old Joe said, smiling as he put a little bit of what appeared to be ordinary tobacco into an old wooden pipe that looked like it could've belonged to his pre-colonial ancestors.

"The tobacco in my pipe is a special kind that only grows here on the island. I'm sure those Hollywood types would love to get their hands on this recipe." Old Joe said as he lit the pipe, and sweet-smelling smoke in shades of blue and pink wafted into my nostrils — nothing like the foul air that comes from cigarettes. "Now then. Breath. Close your eyes. Raise the anchor of your soul and let your mind drift out into the great ocean."

Settling myself into my chair, I closed my eyes and inhaled. In the darkness, the smoke made its way through my nasal cavities, and by reflex, I exhaled sharply through my nostrils, forcing it out. I then reminded myself that I needed to let this stuff inside in order to find the leads I was looking for, but the paranoid parts of me urged me not to let the foreign filth inside.

"You really do have trouble letting go, don't you?" The voice of Old Joe sounded in the darkness.

"Sorry, but lately, my experiences with voices that want me to 'let my mind drift out into the great ocean' haven't been great."

"Your spirit wants this. My voice will be your guide through the memories. Listen to it. Let me be your anchor to this place, and you won't get lost. I'll pull you back when you've seen what there is to see." Old Joe said reassuringly, and my body began to relax, releasing tension that I had no idea I had.

"Don't worry. I've done this before. At least once. Or maybe I haven't. My memories are not as vivid as the Earth's."

"Not encouraging, Joe."

I got the feeling that Old Joe had just rolled his eyes at me, though I couldn't know for certain, given that my eyes were closed. "It was back in the days of our forefathers, many, many lifetimes ago that our land was invaded by an army of darkness from the distant south…"

As he spoke, I could feel myself slipping away from consciousness, losing the ability to focus on anything but Old Joe's words and the incense-like smell from his pipe. Then Old Joe's voice and the sweet smell of his pipe began to fade away, as if I were growing more distant from him. I suddenly became aware of the ground beneath my feet, and I opened my eyes to find myself standing in a Wabanaki village.

Wooden longhouses stood around a central bonfire, whose bright orange flames were beginning to dim, but beyond the center of the village, the ruins of those unfortunate enough to be at the edges still smoldered.

I looked down at myself as I walked, a movement not of my own volition, and I was reminded of my vision of Sarah back in London as I saw a bare-chested, muscular body that wasn't mine. In my callused hand was a bow, and dangling from my waist was a tomahawk.

At the borders of the village were low wooden palisades made of sharpened sticks embedded into the ground. Several Wabanaki warriors stood guard at the entrance of the village, waiting for whoever was attacking them to show up again.

The brave I was inhabiting then paused in his steps as we both heard the sounds of a large group of people coming our way, and he pulled out an arrow from my quiver. As the brave nocked the arrow to the bowstring, I spotted something that I thought only existed in the past and in history books, much less on the shores of Solomon Island.

Bare feet stomped hard on the ground as a war party of loincloth-clad warriors charged the entrance of the Wabanaki village, waving around _macuahuitl_ — wooden swords with obsidian blades. They wore elaborate skull masks adorned with carvings and brightly-colored feathers, and their eyes blazed with a warrior's fury as they engaged the Wabanaki guards.

As the brave drew his bow up to his chin, I then heard the voice of Old Joe coming from everywhere and nowhere at once over the sounds of the fighting, as if he were doing a voiceover for _Wabanaki Hallucinations: The Video Game_.

"They came in terrible ships, riding creatures of nightmares, wielding powerful black magic. We know them now as Mayans, but our ancestors saw them only as masked demons from a hellish place…

"Our tribe was outnumbered and stood no chance against the invaders. Many warriors lost their lives in the first battle, and the second battles was sure to destroy us all and leave the mountains unprotected."

To my surprise, the arrow began to glow as the brave infused it with anima. Picking his target, the brave then released the arrow, and as the tip of the arrow embedded itself into an unlucky Mayan's head, it then exploded, taking out the rest of the Mayans as if they had been caught in the kill radius of a grenade.

Bringing out another arrow and nocking it to his bow, the brave then left the relative safety of the village, apparently intent on bringing the fight to the Mayans. However, his mission hit a tiny little speed bump in the form of a Big Bad Wolf wanting to maul his face off.

In a seriously clutch move, though, the brave dropped into a slide, the hound sailing over his head harmlessly. Getting up onto his feet, the brave launched his arrow right into where the sun don't shine on the Big Bad Wolf. The ensuing explosion resulted in the entirety of the hound's hindquarters being blown into tiny black bits, making me wish that my own magical projectiles could do that.

The brave then went on his way as if nothing happened, but I could feel the increase of speed in his heart rate, and hear the heaviness of his breathing. Still, he nocked another arrow to his bowstring and continued on his way. As he reached a cliff overlooking the seashore, he saw a sight that gave both of us pause.

Burning longships were beached on the shore as the two surviving Vikings fought for their lives against a masked Mayan magus. Seriously — Native Americans and Vikings versus Mayans and monsters. I couldn't make this stuff up even if I tried, guys.

Several rocks levitated around the magus for both protection and ammunition, as was seen when one of the Viking warriors charged the magus with his axe, only to be speared through the heart by the several shards of rock that came flying at him like machine gun fire. The brave and I watched as his blood seeped into the sand, staining it crimson.

The brave knew what he had to do, and so drawing his bowstring again, he aimed from above — the only place not covered by the Mayan's rocks. As the arrow reached full charge, it was let loose. Both the brave and I watched as the arrow flew, but unfortunately, a passing stone intercepted the arrow, taking the brunt of the explosion. However, the ear-ringing blast disoriented the Mayan, and that was all it took for the last Viking to finish the job.

With a battle cry, the last Viking raced towards the Mayan, furry boots kicking up the white sand of the beach as he leapt onto one of the still-floating rocks left untouched by the initial explosion. The brave's eyes widened as the Viking's hammer began to crackle with electricity, and as it made contact with the Mayan's skull, it both crushed and electrocuted.

As the Mayan fell dead, the Viking then looked up at the brave, and nodded in acknowledgement of what he had done. He then pointed towards the end of the beach with his hammer, and the brave nodded as Old Joe spoke again.

"With the blessings of our ancestors and theirs, with the power of all our rites and rituals, along with those of the Vikings, with every man and every woman standing tall with a weapon in their hands, we were ready. Time was short, and the darkness had to be stopped by club, by spear, by swords, and by magic.

As the Viking and the brave met at the foot of a hill, I managed to get a better look at the Viking. He had a handsome bearded face, and red hair peeked out from beneath his hornless helmet. A round, wooden shield rested against his leg, and in one hand, he held a hammer, and in the other, he held a metal axe, taken from one of his fallen comrades. He offered the axe to the brave, who took it and gave it a few preliminary swings.

I could feel how he liked the weight of the weapon, and the brave glanced down at the chipped stone blade of his tomahawk. He then grinned his thanks at the Viking, who nodded as he picked up his shield and jerked his head towards the top of the hill, where a figure stood in front of a pillar of light that reached up into the sky.

As the Viking and brave reached the peak of the hill, they found that it was the Wabanaki's medicine man, covered in blood from having fought alongside the rest of the tribe. As he spoke, he gestured with his hands for the Viking's benefit.

_"__You cannot continue alone. The forest is flooded with blackness — blackness wept from the wound in the mountain. I have spoken to the earth. I asked it to guide you across the danger. Walk into its golden light now."_

The brave then turned towards the Viking, who nodded. They strode purposefully towards the light, letting it swallow them up and turn their vision white. As they left the light, they saw both Viking and Wabanaki fighting fiercely against the Mayan invaders, and in the distance, explosions of light flashed and sounded amidst the din of battle as a monstrous roar shook the entire world.

The brave and Viking turned to face each other again, and both of them nodded at each other before bracing themselves for battle. From there, all I could think about was where I could get buttery popcorn inside a Wabanaki brave's head.

Mayan limbs were hacked off, heads were smashed against trees, and lightning from the Viking's hammer fried enemy warriors, giving off the smell of burnt flesh. The brave cried out a savage noise as he smashed the knee of one of the Mayans with his new axe, and his enemy's scream of pain was turned into a choking gurgle as the axe bit into his throat.

Meanwhile, I caught only glimpses of the Viking, but each glimpse was something to behold. From what I could see, he had been bashing Mayans left and right with his shield, knocking them into trees before turning their heads into a scorched paste with one swing of his electrified hammer.

More of the Big Bad Wolves arrived to reinforce the Mayans, but if anything, it only spurred the Wabanaki and their Viking allies to fight harder. It seemed as if the earth's energy had invigorated the two warriors to the point that they were less mortal, and more like something straight out of Monty Oum's work. All the while, Old Joe's voice narrated the battle, coming from every tree, rock, and corpse around me.

"Even with the Norsemen on our side, the battle was hard, and the Mayans crept ever closer to the summit and to the gateway in the hills, the gateway that had long been guarded by our people. It was the place of whispers, our tribe knew, and anyone who came too close was poisoned.

"The enemy knew this as well, but they craved the poison. They sought it, they worshipped it, and for this reason, they could not be allowed close."

Finally, the brave and the Viking made it through the horde of Mayans to reach a cliff. Beyond them was the void of space, the planets, stars, and asteroids filtered red like an Instagram photo. Below them, however, on another cliff, was a monster — the biggest I had ever seen.

Bat-like wings that could blot out the sky unfurled themselves as many glowing eyes stared down its opponent. Wicked sharp tusks gleamed in the fading light as a tail the size of a bus whipped through the air, the monster's furry, muscular body tensing up in anticipation. Tongues tasted the air as the monster spoke, in a language that made every orifice seem to want to bleed. _"I am Wayeb-Xul! The Hound of Nameless Days! You cannot defeat me! Even with that sword!"_

With a shock, I stared down at the Viking facing off against Wayeb-Xul. He wore a wolf pelt atop his head, but it wasn't his fashion sense that caught my attention — it was his weapon. Specifically, the same weapon I was stabbed by not even twenty-four hours ago. In response to his opponent's boast, King Viking hefted his blade before charging at the beast.

A rustle was heard, and the brave looked to see that the first Viking had leapt off the cliff to help his comrade. As his friend charged the demon's blindspot, the brave brought his bow again to provide fire support for the Vikings. Wayeb-Xul roared as its hide was struck by one of the brave's exploding arrows, but that didn't stop it from trying to gore the Vikings with its tusks and swiping at them with its razor sharp claws.

The two Vikings and the Wabanaki brave made a formidable team: King Viking with Excalibur, the brave with his arrows, and the Viking with crackling lightning sent down by Thor himself. However, the three warriors were exhausted from their previous battles, while their quarry was fresh, and this fact showed during their repeated trading of blows.

The Viking was sent flying back by the monster's tail as his shield broke into splinters, and the King Viking had no time to charge up his sword with the pressure Wayeb-Xul placed on him. The brave was down to the last arrow in his quiver, and it was already being pulled back. He had to make sure this last shot counted — lives depended on this final shot.

King Viking grunted as he was pushed back by Wayeb-Xul's blow, and having dug his heels into the ground, they created tiny ravines that stretched for a good dozen yards. Wayeb-Xul then turned its baleful eyes on the brave just as he released his arrow.

The demon screamed as it clawed at the bloody eye sockets blown to bits by the brave's arrow. The brave drew his new axe, and with a battle cry, he leapt into the melee, intent on finishing the war once and for all. As the bloodied face of Wayeb-Xul opened its many-tongued mouth, my vision then cut to black, and I blinked in surprise as I found myself back in the plastic lawn chair.

On the steps of Old Joe's porch stood Priscilla, who smiled as I blinked again to make sure I still wasn't seeing things. "Hey there. Miss me?"

* * *

_How kind of you to return to the world of consciousness. As much as it's commendable to participate in local customs, perhaps you could choose not to inhale next time. Under current circumstances, if you go incommunicado again we must assume the worst. Don't make us assume the worst._

_R. Sonnac_


	36. Strangers from a Strange Land

"Thought comes before memory. But memory recalls the path." The raven spoke as he and his twin sat atop the towering wardstone that powered the magical wards protecting Solomon Island. Runes were carved into the stone, and I recognized them as being from the Younger Futhark runic alphabet from my crash course in basic magical theory. However, it was the birds that had my attention.

Somehow, the fact that I was staring down a talking bird still managed to somewhat surprise me after all I had seen the past day or two, or maybe I was curious about the fact that he could speak a human language, yet had no lips or teeth to enunciate words with. Then again, they were probably magic ravens or something.

"So who are you guys?" Priscilla asked, and the two ravens made eye contact before the one that had spoken earlier replied.

"I'm thought, he's memory. You can have that one for free."

"We laid our blades up on this far shore, exhausted, only to lift them against worshippers of a dark sun. We carved this story in stone. Here, it waits still to be read." Memory said as he tapped the stone monolith he was perched on with the tip of his beak.

"Memory is a servant of those who prove worthy of thought. Hint-hint."

"From our frozen birthland, we crossed a white-capped sea to green isles of endless rain. This, too, we carved in stone."

"So… if we answer your questions, you'll tell us what you know about the past?" Priscilla asked, and both birdies nodded.

"We'll even lead you to the other two wardstones. One riddle for each piece of lore. How's that sound?"

Priscilla and I glanced at one another. Old Joe only knew the location of one of the wardstones — the rest were lost to history. If these guys knew where they were… "Alright, you have a deal. But first…"

As I said this, I placed my hands on the monolith and closed my eyes to concentrate. As I pushed my anima into the rock, I could feel my magic circuits become part of a larger whole. It's kinda hard to describe, but it felt as if your hands are magnets glued to the rock, jolts of hot electricity like sizzling drops of oil landing on your skin from a pan making your bones tingle.

Then the moment ended, and as I removed my hands from the monolith and opened my eyes, I saw that the runes on the wardstone were glowing blue.

My hand then immediately went for my sidearm as I heard the growling and snarling of approaching Frankies, and as the group charged at us out on the open field like _Call of Duty _noobs, Priscilla caught them in a blast of buckshot from her shotgun. The few survivors still moaning and groaning on the ground were then put down with bullets to their brains.

Then turning back to the ravens still perched atop the wardstone, Priscilla asked. "Okay. What's your riddle?"

It was Thought who spoke up as he gazed at us with dark eyes like the void of space. "A wise man once asked of a king: _'Who is the great one who grasps the earth, swallowing wood and water? Bad weather he dreads, wind, but no man, and picks a fight with the sun.'_ "

Priscilla pursed her lips in thought, and I too considered the question. A great one who grasps the earth, and swallows wood and water… It fears bad weather, but not people, and opposes the sun… "Fog. The answer is fog."

Thought nodded and Memory spoke, gazing off into the distance. "We carried a sword out from the lands of rain, and gave thanks to the gods. All must pass before the gods. In our longships, we sighted where the dawn-people and sun-worshippers warred. We joined them, a hail of arrows sent before us to mark the path."

"The same wise man asked the king: 'What beast is that which defends fighters; it bears a bloody back, but men it saves, meets spears, gives life to some, and lays itself inside a soldier's palm'?"

"Hmm… Let me think…" I began as I began to think aloud. "It defends, it saves lives, and is something a soldier would carry… A shield."

"Correct." Thought said as both he and Memory spread their black wings. "Follow us."

As they took flight, Priscilla and I began running after them. Our path had us follow roads, zip past trees, and dodging the hungry gaze of the various monsters roaming the island. By the time Thought and Memory had perched themselves onto the second wardstone, even Priscilla was out of breath.

Despite my fatigue, I summoned the will to take the final few steps towards the wardstone. Placing my hands on the stone, I could feel the warmth absorbed from the sunlight as I poured my anima into it. The wardstones reminded of Mom: very difficult to wake up, and even when awake, required large amounts of fuel to even function properly.

Finally, the wardstone pulsed with life as its runes glowed blue, and I was forced to use it as support for my weakened body. It seemed days of heavy anima usage were finally starting to catch up to me. Unslinging my rifle, I braced its stock against my shoulder and looked down its length as more Frankies came barreling towards us from within the woods.

Raising my rifle, I squeezed the trigger, and the first Frankie came tumbling onto the ground with a hole in the middle of its forehead, causing a few other zombies to trip over its dead body.

However, more were coming, and as I pulled the bolt of my rifle back to load a new round into the chamber, I muttered to myself as Priscilla's shotgun made its retort to the Frankies' argument that she'd make a delicious rare steak. "Jeez, you'd think the island would've run out of zombies to throw at us by now…"

Another zombie went down, and two more took its place. It was like fighting a hydra, and the only reason I hadn't died yet was because Priscilla was keeping the Frankies at bay with her Benelli. With me picking off the stragglers and potential reinforcements so that she wouldn't have to worry about getting blindsided, we soon had the entirety of the small Frankie horde neutralized.

The fighting didn't seemed to have fazed the two ravens. In fact, Memory was preening his wing feathers as Thought spoke. "Wise man, king, you know the drill: 'The mind-whacker, the word-thwarter, the word-upraiser.' "

"Oh, I know this one from personal experience: alcohol." Priscilla answered, and Thought turned his head towards Memory, tilting it in consideration. After a moment of silence, turned around to face us again. He then gave us what I think was the avian equivalent of a person shrugging their shoulders.

"Close enough. The real answer was ale."

Now it was Memory's turn to speak. "They did not know Loki walked among them, as he walks today. He fought at their side, but he is a trickster. Guided only by rivalry with his brother. Let the thunder god also guide you. The game was done, this battle won. They had earned the wealth which was their reward, and only one place remained for them to go."

"The wise man asked: 'Four hang, four sprang, two point the way, two ward off dogs, one dangles after and it is always rather dirty.' "

"Hold on, I think I read the answer to this one somewhere. Let me remember…" Priscilla said. "The answer is a cow, right? Four hanging from an udder, four legs, two eyes, two horns, and a tail."

"Correct." Thought said as he and Memory spread their wings again. As they took flight once more, we followed. They were going slower this time, occasionally stopping to land on a tree branch or some other perch while they waited for us to catch up.

Finally, we came across the wardstone, but there was bad news to go along with it, in the form of a Big Bad Wolf standing guard. Luckily we were downwind of the hound, so it couldn't smell us as we hid behind some old trees. Bringing out my rifle again, I stared down its length at the eye of the hound. "I'm gonna try and take out its eye, but get ready if things go south."

Priscilla nodded as she readied her shotgun, and I turned my attention back to the Big Bad Wolf. Taking a breath, I moved my finger to the trigger and pulled. I then swore silently as the bullet just _grazed_ the hound's head, and snapping its head towards us, it growled as it strode menacingly towards our position.

As I reached for my lighter, Priscilla opened fire with her shotgun, and my flames joined her buckshot in attacking the Big Bad Wolf to try and stop it before it could attack. However, the black hound simply shrugged off our attacks, and as it lunged towards us, Thought and Memory squawked indignantly as they flew away to safety.

As the Big Bad Wolf turned on Priscilla, I began charging up my anima for an all-out attack. If I couldn't kill the mutt with a thousand cuts, then my only option was to finish it in one powerful blow. I just hoped Priscilla lasted long enough for me to make my move. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my available power finally reached its zenith, and I let loose an inferno from my lighter.

The Big Bad Wolf howled in pain as its spiny back was set alight, and I saw a brief flash of steel, followed by blood as Priscilla stabbed the hound several times in its face, blood pouring down the blued steel of her combat knife to cake on her hands as she struck every blow with all of her monstrous might. Finally, Priscilla tossed aside the dog on top of her like a blanket in the morning, huffing and puffing as she got up onto her feet.

As we made our way to the two ravens still sitting on the wardstone, Thought asked, "Have you guessed yet?"

"Guessed what?" Priscilla asked, a little annoyed. I suppose having near-death experience can make even the best of us a little cranky.

"Who the wise man was?"

"No."

"The wise man was the All-Father, the Wednesday man. The raven-god. In his honey dreaming, we shall carry him these new thoughts, these new memories." Thought explained, and suddenly, something clicked within my mind.

"Wait… You guys are Huginn and Muninn, right? The two ravens who brought news to Odin in Norse mythology?"

Both Thought, now known to me as Huginn, and Memory, aka Muninn, nodded their heads, and then Muninn spoke. "In time, they made to return to the lands of snow. Only to be taken by the sea where the Draugr drown. This, Loki knew, so he did not sail. South, he went, to find the secrets of the dark sun. Farewell, young bees."

With that, Huginn and Muninn spread their wings and flew away, and as Priscilla and I watched them go, a horrifying thought occurred to me. I remember what Beaumont said about him being cast out, about him being famous for his cons, and those little tidbits came together to form one very unsettling picture. "Priscilla… I think we're going up against a god…"

* * *

_Vikings warring with Mayans warring with Wabanaki. We are in the habit of blaming the Illuminati for all the miseries of Solomon Island — we do so especially in the middle of Council meetings. Of course, the island was a mess long before they got there._

_This information sheds light on the history of the artifact we are pursuing. It has long been our version of events that Excalibur was plundered from our isles. In fact, that may not be quite right. The Vikings did not merely stumble upon and steal it. They were led to it by forces that understood how essential the sword was to winning the war against darkness all those years ago._

_I dare say it may be equally essential now, and if those forces have any sense in them, they will lead us to it just as they led the Norsemen all those years ago._

_R. Sonnac_


	37. The Battle with Beaumont

Ducking down to avoid hitting our heads on the roof of the cave we had been told to go to by Ami, Priscilla and I made our way through the tunnel. Gravel shifted and crunched beneath our feet as we moved towards the light at the other end of the tunnel. Once we neared the end of the tunnel, we saw several familiar faces awaiting us on the other side of a calm, still pool that glistened like a giant sapphire.

Gravel shifted to green grass that rustled as we stepped towards the edge of the pool, and we looked to see Old Joe conversing with Ami as they stood with the rest of the tribe. "All these wasted years…"

"We all played a part. We all made mistakes." Ami said gently. "The only thing that matters now is that we repair the damage we've caused before it destroys our chance for a future."

"What? I thought we already fixed it. Well, not _we _as much as…" Kyra trailed off as she made eye contact with me.

"Your mother is right, Kyra." Old Joe said. "Yes, the wards are working again — for now, at least — but the sanctum of the mountain has already been breached. The enemy must be confronted."

Old Joe then turned towards me and Priscilla. "Thanks to you, we have one last chance. With the wards repaired and our family reunited, we might have the strength to fight him. But we do need your help."

"The sword our enemy carries is both a weapon and a key, and the source of all his power. When you last confronted him you were no match for him. This time… This time you go with the power of all the ages. The wells of our forefathers have been filled, and you will drink from them."

"Just think of it as an elixir." Ami said. "It's perfectly safe… I think."

"Not exactly inspiring confidence here, Ami." I said.

"We will channel the spirits of our ancestors to guide you, and the thunder of the gods from the north to still the black waters." Old Joe said as he gestured to the pool of water. "You two will wield this power, and the world will tremble beneath your feet."

"Be quick, though — such magic won't last, and we only have one opportunity to right our wrongs. Both the people of the dawn and the people of tomorrow pray for your success."

"Go team!" Kyra interjected, pumping her fist up into the air. Her fist then lowered itself back down at her side as everyone turned to stare at her. "Sorry, but it really _was_ one of those 'go team' moments."

I chuckled a little at that as Priscilla and I knelt down next to the pool. "It sure was, Kyra. It sure was…"

For a moment, I could see myself in the mirror-like surface of the water with perfect clarity. Then, the well of the tribe's forefathers was disturbed by the ripples of our hands scooping up the cool water. As I stared down at the water in my hands, I could hear it buzz softly with subtle, yet great power, just waiting to be absorbed and used for a righteous cause.

I glanced up from the water to see the tribe looking expectantly at me, and I spoke as I raised my hands to my lips. "Well then… bottoms up!"

The elixir was as sweet as honey, but smooth on the way down. It was cool on the tongue, yet it made me feel nice and warm all over, or maybe it was because my clothes had spontaneously combusted from the excess anima leaking out of my circuits.

As I extinguished myself with a thought, leaving behind hissing streams of steam rising off my unharmed body and clothing, Old Joe asked, "Are you ready?"

"Oh, _yeah_…" I answered with a fierce grin. "Beaumont won't know what hit him!"

* * *

Making our way back to the Blue Ridge Mine and past the wandering golems that patrolled it was easy. The huge clunkers made a lot of noise, so as long as you kept to the shadows and listened closely, you could find a place to hide long before the lights of their lanterns could even be seen. Once we had made it past the golem guards and the lifts that had once ferried the miners up and down, we soon came across the pit that dropped down to the entrance to the cavern where the Gaia Engine was located.

"You ready for this?" Priscilla asked as she checked to make sure her shotgun was loaded, and I nodded as I checked my lighter and pistol. Creating another rope ladder for us to use, we made our way down to the bottom of the pit. As I peered ahead, I whispered to Priscilla, "Look over there! Your hunch was right!"

There he was — Beaumont, with his back towards us, still holding onto his magic sword as he knelt. Bringing out my rifle, I cocked the bolt back slowly with a soft click, and as I braced the stock against my shoulder and took aim, I muttered an incantation so that the surprise would be a little more… _shocking_. Then, I pulled the trigger.

Beaumont cried out in pain as the bullet struck the back of his head, and he spun around, his sword raised to meet us. "So… we meet again. You're persistent ones, aren't you…? What's that smell on you? You both reek of primitive magics."

In response, I brought my lighter to blast him with an inferno of flame. As the flames howled and washed over him like a tsunami of fire, Priscilla and I moved forward into the cavern, where there was more room for us to fight. As the fire died down, Beaumont stood there, unburnt, as the force field he had conjured up disappeared into orange anima particles.

He then cried out in pain again as Priscilla blasted him with her shotgun from a spot just outside his peripheral vision. She had to make every shot count — though Paul and Annika Gamelin from the trailer park and Red had generously given us their spare ammo from their stores, restocking on ammo from a duffel bag in the middle of a fight was a tricky business, even at its easiest.

However, even when outnumbered and forced to fight a battle on two fronts with two Templars on magic steroids, Beaumont proved to be a formidable opponent. He blocked my elixir-enhanced fireballs with conjured force fields before hurling his own fireballs towards Priscilla, forcing her to get out of the way before she could get a shotgun blast in. Even when we managed to land a hit, his wounds only healed themselves — some kind of cellular regeneration, perhaps?

"Fenrir!" Beaumont cried out as he raised a glowing purple left hand, and a sudden growling sound filled the air as a Big Bad Wolf emerged from the shadows. It roared as it lunged towards me, knocking me onto my back so that I was pinned in between its legs and staring it down eye-to-eye.

However, I had managed to pull something out my jacket just before I was knocked down, and I forcefully it vertically into the hound's mouth so that its jaws were propped open and left unable to close. I then pressed the button and performed the fastest forward crab walk ever.

I rolled out from beneath the Big Bad Wolf just as the pipe bomb exploded in its mouth, killing it as the shrapnel tore their way through the mutt's vulnerable jaws to get at its skull. Still breathing hard from the sudden adrenaline rush, I assessed the situation. Priscilla had been backed into a corner by a concussive blast of wind magic, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth, with Beaumont coming towards her with his sword. I then flicked my lighter, and Beaumont screamed as the fireball struck his backside.

My anima reserves were pretty much empty at this point, only having enough for Reinforcement, and my Beretta was out of ammo, with my Remington 700 broken in two some distance away. Beaumont was standing in between me and my supply, and I had used my third pipe bomb as a distraction so that I could load my last magazine. Drawing my combat knife, I saw Beaumont smirk as he raised his sword. "Compensating for something, Beaumont?"

Though I wasn't sure about how the Norse gods operated back in their day, I was pretty sure that the appropriate response to an insult was an attempted comeback, not attempted murder, as Beaumont had done. Fortunately, the tip of the sword just barely missed my ribcage, and I lunged for his torso with my knife. Steel glinted, and clothing was torn as the edge of my knife created a tear in Beaumont's clothes, leaving the fabric looking like one of my deceased grandmother's curtain after her cat had gotten to it.

We went at each other like this for some time, modern blued steel clashed with ancient metal, with the reflexes and speed of youth proving to be a match for a ancient super weapon at extremely close range. I ducked and dodged, trying desperately not to get killed by Beaumont's swordplay, but my stamina was flagging while Beaumont was still relatively fresh. Plus, I couldn't kill him with a thousand cuts, because every time I managed to cut or stab him, it would heal completely by the time I did it again, though the healing wasn't as fast as Avalon's. He hadn't landed a blow yet, but once he did, it was all over.

My eyes widened as I saw my reflection in the flat of Beaumont's blade, and I grunted in pain as it slammed right into my gut, sending my sprawling onto the rocky ground. I think a few ribs had cracked from the force of the blow, and my insides probably looked like a bruise. A shadow passed over me as I propped myself up onto my elbows, and I saw that Beaumont was standing over me, sword raised to finish me off.

Then, out of nowhere, a blur knocked Beaumont off his feet, and I looked to see Priscilla beating the tar out of Beaumont, the sword laying at their side. I couldn't help but wince in sympathy for Beaumont, despite him being an arrogant, world-destroying douchebag and all that. At least she didn't have a beer bottle with her.

I heard the sound of bones breaking, like a particularly loud crunch of a potato chip or an egg shell, mixed in with Priscilla's heavy breathing, and when she was finally done, Beaumont was lying on his stomach, face bruised, battered, and covered in tiny pebbles from the ground.

Priscilla and I both got up onto our feet, and together, we walked towards the sword lying on the ground. I glanced at Priscilla, and she nodded. However, before I could pick up the sword, I froze in place, like I was encased in an invisible shell, and I found myself rising up into the air.

Thankfully, I was still capable of moving my eyeballs, and I could see that a glowing purple aura was coming off of me like solar flares. I looked to see that Priscilla was also frozen and floating in place, and then my eyes widened as I saw someone I hadn't expected.

"Cassie… Thank Ymir. I knew you'd come through for me." Beaumont said as he tried crawling towards his sword. "There'll be a place at my table, when… when I've taken back…"

Beaumont's gratitudes were suddenly interrupted by the sound of Cassandra's laughing as she rested her palms atop the pommel of the sword. "Come through? For _you_? Do you have any idea who I am?"

The blade made a distinctly _sharp _sound as its point was pulled out of the ground by Cassandra. "Or who I am about to become?"

"Don't… don't touch that! It's not for you!" Beaumont wheezed out desperately as he futilely reached for the sword, so close and yet so far away. "You have no fucking idea what you're messing with!"

"Funny, I was gonna tell you the same thing." Cassandra said as she bent her knees to get a closer look at Beaumont lying pathetically on the ground, sword resting across her shoulders. "I just hope you understand, Beaumont, it's not you…"

She then grunted as she introduced her boot to Beaumont's face, her beautiful face twisting into a ferocious visage. "_It's me._"

It was then that I felt a pulling sensation at the small of my back, as if my flesh was being sucked down a drain. Then, my vision suddenly went black as I was sucked into the unknown.


	38. The Dreamers' Gift

Cold. That was my first thought as I came to, and as I opened my eyes, my vision was filled with white. I soon realized that I was lying down in snow, and I shivered as I stood up onto my feet. As I looked around, ignoring the cold wetness seeping through my shoes, I could see tents and crates half-hidden by the snow.

A dogsled lay on its side, on its way to becoming an abstract ice sculpture, and the glass of the old-fashioned gas lamps lying around were covered in frost. All of this was enclosed by icy walls that rose high into the sky like skyscrapers.

"Where am I…?" I asked aloud, to no one in particular as I patted myself down. To my horror, I found that I had nothing useful on me: no gun, no backpack, no lighter, no nothing. I shuddered as I made my way towards the crates and tents, my breath visible in the cold. There had to be something I could use.

After a few minutes of searching, I soon came out of one of the tents, dressed in a thick, furry anorak, and in my woolen mittens was an empty backpack marked with the red-and-blue flag of Norway. Sure, it was devoid of supplies, but I figured it'd come in handy later. Slinging its straps over my shoulders, I looked ahead, towards the passageway between the icy walls. "Well, if this is the only way out, I guess I have to take it…"

The snow crunched beneath my sneakers as I walked the path. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any snow boots, so I was forced to contend with cold, wet feet as I plodded along the icy ground and pray that I didn't get trench foot. The ice walls reflected my appearance like those houses of mirrors you see at carnivals and county fairs.

To be blunt, I looked like shit, and I felt like shit, too. My hair looked like a buzzard had roosted in it, and my face was covered in gunk I can't even begin to describe. So much had changed within just a few days, and I couldn't bear to look at myself anymore, so I turned my head down towards my feet.

I seemed to have gone on forever by the time I felt the compulsion to look up from my feet, and I was faced with a set of twin doors made out of carved stone. Like the ice walls on either side, they seemed to stretch upwards into infinity. I then started a little as I heard a deep rumbling sound that made the cold soles of my wet feet tingle, and as the doors slid open, I could hear those damn voices again, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. _"Come, come…"_

I now had two choices: one, turn back and freeze to death, or two, head inside the cave the doors had opened up to. I felt like I had to choose between having a double mastectomy or my wisdom teeth removed. Both unpleasant, but one option clearly better than the other. As such, I stepped forward to head inside, trying my best to ignore the voices as they jabbered on by focusing on the sound my feet made as the snow gave way beneath them.

_"__We can give you what you deserve… We can give you the world… Come… Speak with us, and you'll see… _

_"__Your potential is being wasted by your puppet masters… Your future holds so much promise… We hate to see you held back by their narrow-mindedness and greed… _

_"__We are generous and giving to those who aspire to greatness… Don't let your talents be wasted… Don't accept any less than what you deserve…_

_"__Look around… Witness the legacy of those who were brave and dared to dream…_ _You can rise higher and reach further than they ever did,_ _if you only accept our help and our gift to you…"_

Reluctantly, I looked up, and to my surprise, the snow on the ground gave way to wooden floorboards. A desk strewn with papers written in beautiful cursive stood in front of the bookcase set up against the wall, and the glowing electric lamp without a power cord in sight showed that each shelf was stuffed to the brim with leather-bound books full of yellowed pages.

_"__Some choose to be granted the gift of language, to use words to seduce and change the world… But true power cannot be contained by words, and true power can shape the world to your will…"_

Wood gave way to snow again, only for the cold to give way to a different cold — the cold that came from stone brick leading up into the easel of a painting. It was a simple, yet elegant drawing of a person reaching for something. I think Raphael or some other Renaissance artist drew it. Paintings were framed on the stone wall behind the painting, but to be honest, I preferred art you could listen to or eat.

_"__Some choose to be granted the gift of sight, to envision and recreate beauty… But beauty is hollow compared to true power…"_

The next point of interest on my walking tour was the statue stowed away in a natural alcove of the cave. It looked like it had been looted from an Egyptian tomb, crook and flail in the statue's hands, armed crossed over its chest. Golden braziers burned coals on both sides of it, casting shadows on the statue.

However, what really got me was the resemblance the statue had to me. Well, it would've looked like a life-size me set in stone, except for the fact that there was no acne on the statue, no scrawniness to it. I figured it was the ancient Egyptian version of those Old Spice ads: _"The man your man could smell like!"_ It was a perfect version of me — too perfect to really be me, in fact.

_"__Some choose to be made into figureheads, pale shadows of those who walk the true and enlightened path, alongside us… Become the one who pulls the strings, not the puppet on the throne…"_

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've always thought that ruling the world was more trouble than it was worth." I said as I turned away from the statue and walked away.

The next section of the wall was a black iron gate. Beyond it lied a mansion with a black limo parked in front of the marble steps leading the mansion's mahogany door. Bundles of hundred-dollar bills littered the driveway and perfectly-manicured emerald lawn as if a tornado had deposited its collected debris after tearing up a bank.

_"__Some choose material wealth, mere shadows of true wealth, true power… You will have no need for paper and metal, when you carry within you something much greater…"_

"Again, thanks, but no thanks. Like power, I've always figured that the trouble that comes with lots of money just isn't worth it. I mean, look at the Kardashians, for crying out loud. Besides, the house is way too big for me to keep clean."

However, the voices were undeterred, even as I passed by their proffered gifts, and as I made my way towards the light at the end of the cave, they spoke once more.

_"__Come, and we'll speak of your future… We are fascinated by you… We want to hear _everything_ about you…"_

* * *

_Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see._

_TRANSMIT — initiate cleansing signal — RECEIVE — initiate anima circulation — APPLY TO AFFECTED AREA — initiate the slumber syntax — PROTECT YOUR FAMILY FROM AIRBORNE IMPURITIES — initiate titan schematics — IN WHAT COULD BE THE GREATEST OIL SPILL DISASTER IN HISTORY — initiate apocalyptic energy drain — WITNESS — The Gaia Engines._

_The engines run, but where are the builders? WARNING! Cleansing efficiency compromised. Engine 45B lost. The Filth leaks. It flows up alien gravities. Initiate diagnostic protocols. Alert the immaculate machine. Initiate distress beacon to the Host. Is anyone out there? Who mans the light at the end of the tunnel?_

* * *

I groaned as I felt the headache the Buzzing had brought on recede, and massaging my temples, I looked to see that I had been transported to an icy cliff overlooking a dark, abyssal ocean whose waves crashed against the base of the cliff in eruptions of white froth. Above my head, stars shone as harsh pinpricks of light in the black canvas of the night sky, and asteroids tumbled slowly through the air as the rain began drizzling.

I willed the popsicles I now called legs to trudge through the snow, which was now deep enough to reach the hem of my jeans. My path left two ravines in the snow — two canyons that led to a carved wooden table, its legs gilded with gold leaf, sitting on the edge of the cliff. Atop the smooth, polished surface of the table was a little present, covered in lavender wrapping wrapper and a wide purple ribbon tied in a large bow.

_"__Good… Good… The time has come to accept our gift to you… We can give you everything, the world… You only have to choose to accept it…"_

I considered the innocuous little gift lying on the table. It looked harmless enough, and the promises the voices had spoken did sound genuine. However, all I could think of as I looked at the present were the faces of all the people I had come across here in Kingsmouth, as clear as if in a photograph.

Sheriff Bannerman, Deputy Andy, Moose, Madame Roget, Danny Dufresne, Joe Slater, Edgar, Ellis Hill, Mr. Montag, Miss Usher, Carter, Eleanor Franklin, Ami, Kyra, Red, Old Joe, Tyler Freeborn… All of them dead, or soon to be dead. All thanks to the voices.

It was then that I realized my only choice, in that moment of clarity when it all comes together, and in that moment, I shouted towards the stars in space.

"You promise me all the world, but what kind of world is that? A dead world, that's what it is! You must be dreaming if you think I want to live in a world like that! And besides, what _I _really want is for you all to go to hell!"

I then looked towards the present still sitting silently on the table, like a meek bride with her eyes downcast in front of the husband she had never met before, the one her parents had arranged for her. "And _this_ is for everyone who's suffered because of you, you son of a BITCH!"

My leg snapped upwards, and I brought my foot to crash against the edge of the table. As the table toppled over like a toddler's wooden blocks, I caught a brief glimpse of the present as its ribbon came undone, the wind ripping away the wrapping paper and allowing the box to reveal its pale white interior. Lightning then flashed, swallowing my vision whole with white as the voices spoke angrily.

_"__Run away! You won't be able to escape the end of days…"_

_"__Maybe… but that doesn't mean I can't flip you the bird at every opportunity until that time comes…"_

* * *

"Chase? Chase? Wake up!" A familiar voice assaulted my ears, and I groaned softly as I felt the warm sunlight hit my face. I opened my eyes and sat up to find myself sitting outside the Blue Ridge Mine — not far from where I met Ami and Kyra, in fact. I looked towards Priscilla, who was squatting at my side, a concerned look on her face. "You alright there? You were out like a light for hours… After Cassandra came in, whatever spell she casted spat us out back here."

I nodded vigorously as I stood up. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine… Come on, Priscilla. I think we're done here."

Priscilla nodded as she too stood up. "Yeah… Let's go home, Chase."

* * *

_You went off the radar there for a bit, and it's certainly unfortunate that you are not in possession of the sword, but we will make do. Whatever else is happening on Solomon Island, we are reasonably confident the situation will not escalate. That is really the best we can ask for._

_Return to London at your earliest convenience, after you've finished any unfinished business over there._

_R. Sonnac_

* * *

As I opened the door to Sonnac's office, he looked up from his paperwork on the desk in front of him to regard me with his dark eyes. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, yes. Come in, Mr. Mercer." Sonnac said as he beckoned me in and gestured for me to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. I did so, and there was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "That's quite the thousand yard stare."

"Ah…" I said, shaking my head to clear the bad thoughts away. I hadn't realized my own distraction. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just that… I can't help but think about the past — about what happened, what I could've done differently, how things could've went…"

Sonnac nodded understandingly. "Believe me when I say that you did everything you could have done, and even found time for a little collateral salvation despite my instruction to the contrary. I won't feign disappointment. You and Miss Ross were as noble as the situation was not. I only hope you weren't expecting a neat and happy ending, or… I would have cushioned you better for the… vertiginous let-down."

"No, not really, but I was still caught off guard at how… bleak it all was." I admitted. "So may I ask what you called me in here for, sir? Was our report from earlier unsatisfactory?"

Sonnac shook his bald head. "I only wished to remind you of the bigger picture, Mr. Mercer. That this was only a small, ugly battle in a long, long war. Remember Solomon Island as a learning experience all about evil.

"Evil cannot be swept under the rug, or buried beneath artificial turf. It must be dealt with — quickly and absolutely. That's our cue. Without conviction, we are nothing."

"Yes, sir." I intoned, and Sonnac regarded me for a moment before continuing on.

"You saw that pretender Beaumont hold a weapon that once united kingdoms and banished stellar gods, and a lot of good it did him. What a difference conviction makes. The sword was Excalibur. it belongs in an occult museum, not with some roadside diner Lolita who fancies herself a black magician, but we will find her."

"Let's face it, it's not the first witch-hunt we've ever launched. We must. If such a thing were to make it to the open market, it's the end of the 'secret' world."

"I understand, sir."

Sonnac glanced at the clock ticking away on the mantlepiece. "It's getting late now. You should return to your quarters."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your time, and good night." I said as I stood up from my plush red armchair. I walked across the carpet to the mahogany doors. With a slight bit of effort, I shut the doors with a thump, leaving it all behind me as I turned to make my way home.

* * *

**Holy cow… One storyline down! The next part of Chase Mercer's story will encompass the days before and during the events of Egypt as well as the quests I can fit in. If you have any questions or suggestions, please leave a review and I'll PM you. I'm also thinking about getting a beta reader for the sequel, so if you're interested in the job, let me know. Either way, expect to see the sequel sometime next year!**


End file.
